The Cleansing
by Cheah
Summary: An exsoldier with a secret past fights against an entire city of mobsters with his men. Anonymous reviews now accepted. Rated M for violence, and blood and gore.
1. Part One: New Sacramento, CA

The Cleansing  
  
Disclaimer: While I do not own Interplay, Black Isle, 14 Degrees East or whatever company that published/made Fallout, its concepts and unique weapons, and its sequels, nor am I an employee of either company, I do own this story, and its characters.  
  
'The only thing necessary for the rise of evil is for good men to do nothing.' -Edmund Burke  
  
Prologue: Smith, Jake, Major, 1386-3456-2343 Nemesis  
  
It was May 9, 2355, according to my Personal Information Processor 2000, commonly called a PIP Boy-2000 by the men of the USM.  
  
I checked the bunkers (one of them is officially called a Transport Container, Bulletproof, Mark 23 Mod 3) I had secured to the back of my Hummer (I have forgotten its official name) with a series of straps that could be unfastened within thirty seconds if one can unlock the lock. The whole thing was covered by a larger container, which was secured by a quick- release series of latches. This vehicle had been modified to run off Fusion Batteries, not uncommon thanks to the gradual return of pre-war technology, partly due to the Brotherhood of Steel. (There were two, but only the second one rose to prominence in late 2197) In the bunkers lay my clothing, supplies, weaponry and ammunition, and so on.  
  
Done.  
  
I checked my twin Para-Ordnance P-14/45 pistols in their Bianchi cross-draw holsters. These pistols were among the most accurate in the world. They were commonly used in IPSC (International Practical Shooting Competition) shooting matches in the early 20th to 21st century, yet rugged enough for combat use. These were loaded with 14-round magazines in .45 ACP. They were fully loaded with one round in the chamber, giving them a total ammunition count of 15 shots each. They had reflex sights instead of the original to provide a better flash-picture index.  
  
I checked my Smith and Wesson Model 29 revolver in its small-of-the- back holster. The revolver was rugged, accurate, and durable enough to withstand Wasteland use, and battlefield conditions. It was loaded with six .44 Magnum rounds, the kind that can blow a man's head clean off.  
I checked my ammunition stocks. I had four magazines for the pistols and four speed loaders for the revolver in specially built pockets, giving me a total of 58 .45 ACP and 36 .44 Magnum bullets with which to face off danger. Several boxes of those two kinds of ammo upgraded my stocks to 300 bullets of each type.  
My equipment check was done. I hopped in my vehicle and drove out of Hoosier, CA, to New Sacramento, CA. Both of them had been reclaimed from the wastes sometime in the earlier parts of the century. The world is still pretty much the same.  
As I drove, I gave myself a little history lesson.  
2240, formation of the United States Militiamen. 2250, National Power Corporation established with the union of several large nuclear reactors. USM has a hand in clearing out the undesirable elements around the sites. 2251, reclamation of several factories, notably Chrysalis and General Electric. USM rumored to own the arms and ammunition producers, along with the Brotherhood of Steel and their owners. Both the USM and BOS each receive 20% of arms and ammo produced monthly. 2270, NPC wires West Coast with power. 2271, raiders attempt to cut off electricity. USM destroys raider bases in the West Coast to retaliate. 2280, NPC wires Southwest with electricity. USM guards key nodes. 2300, raiders try to unite the USA. USM sniper assassinates the raider leader, preventing the plot from taking place. The shot was from one and a half mile away, if reports are to be believed. NPC gains several more nuclear reactors. USM rumored to be part of that. Around this time, several progressive Vaults initiated the Eden Project ( they were brought together by the USM) in an attempt to repopulate the USA using their excess Garden of Eden Creation Kits. 2325, Universal Soldier Project initiated by the USM. Rumored that several Vaults were the original initiators, and the technology used in the Universal Soldier project was stolen from them. 2350, several suitable recruits are selected for the Project's training course. At the end of the course, 6 qualify. These 6 are injected with all sorts of stuff, making them universal soldiers. They also undergo surgery to have all sorts of equipment implanted into them. They can fight in any environment, have accelerated healing, and so on. 2354, Unisols disbanded after a certain incident.  
I was one of the Unisols.  
The 'incident' was the Unisols (Officially called Special Task Force) taking out a general who had defected to a powerful raider group. We took him on without authorization. After the smoke cleared, we were sent to the hospital, patched up, and discharged without so much as a 'thank you' or 'farewell', or even 'good luck, hope you don't you're die in the Wasteland'.  
From then on, we drifted away. I heard that Sam O'Sullivan, 2nd lieutenant, was in New Sacramento, working as a doctor. I decided to pay him a visit.  
A day later, I was at its outskirts. There appeared to be something going on between two groups of people. I parked my car a couple of hundred meters away from them, took out my M14 and four magazines, placed a warning sign not to lean on it or even make contact with the car, activated the booby trap on my Hummer, and sneaked towards them.  
Let's see if you still got it, Nemesis was the thought that flashed through my head.  
There were eight of them; four per side.  
One side was clad in leather, armed with Uzis and had long katanas in sheaths at their side. It had to be Yakuza.  
Another was clad in business suits and fedoras. They were carrying M1A1 'Tommy guns' in their hands. Their leader-what appeared to be the leader-was a large beefy man who appeared to be strong enough to tear the Yakuza men apart. Mafia.  
I loaded my M14 and set the firing mode to automatic. I could handle the 7.62 NATO/ .308 Winchester round at full-auto. The rifle was based on the M1 Garand rifle used in WWI, II, and Korea. Because of this, it was reliable enough to withstand hard use. This rifle was rare as most M14s were built in semiautomatic. This used to be in semiautomatic, but an engineer at a certain USM base converted it to a select-fire rifle.  
Unfortunately, it overheated too quickly and only had a 20-round magazine. But no matter. I aimed my rifle at the Mafia head. I crept over to about 50 meters away from them. I wasn't spotted.  
"What the f do you want?" Mafia head shouted.  
"Your life, demon!" a Yakuza spokesman replied. The Yakuza men had their Uzis pointed at the Mafia men. The gangsters aimed their M1A1s at the Yakuza.  
"Like f you can. C'mon boys, let's rock!" Mafia Head spat.  
A roar of gunfire from both sides drowned out the Japanese (sure, sure) response. The heavy .45 M1911 bullets slammed into the Yakuza before they had a chance to pull their triggers. The .45 round was originally meant to put down a drugged up crazy in the Philippines in the early 1910s. It was highly successful at its task. A burst of them could tear a man in half. And these bursts did.  
I could make out sprays of blood, separation of bodies, and some gunfire. If a bullet enters a brain, it could cause the muscles in the fingers to spasm, causing triggers to be pulled from the grave. However, the 9 mm Parabellum bullets just drove themselves into the air. The Uzis had been directed upwards by the bodies of their ex-owners being pushed down.  
"Heh. That'll teach those yellow fers."  
"Freeze!" I called out. I had seen enough.  
"Who the f are you?" The mob whipped around to see a gunman dressed in a trench coat that was kneecap long and pants pointing a M14 at them. (Modified) Metal armor (Mk II, but I doubt they would know the difference) was underneath the jacket. A lifetime of conflict had manifested itself in the series of scars across the metal.  
"Major Smith, United States Militiaman! You're under arrest for murder in the first degree!" The true purpose of the USM was unclear. It was somewhere between an army and a national police force, with the duties of both. 'Arrest' didn't mean anything to me now that I was out of the group...but what the h.  
"F!"  
"Maximum efficiency!"  
I pulled the trigger, and everything went into slow motion. I released a 5-round burst and hosed down two guys. The first was Mafia Head. 3 .308 Winchester bullets entered his suit and knocked him to the ground. He wasn't dead yet. The second man received a bullet in the heart and another to the skull. Either wound would be fatal; it was just a matter of time. I brought the rifle down fired another 5-round burst. I could see the bullet casings fly out of the ejection port. One bullet entered Mafia Head's head before he hit the ground. The next four bullets were equally split between the last two. The bullets smashed into their chests and entered their hearts and lungs. I followed through with a shot to each of their heads.  
The STF had faster reactions than most people due to our treatment.  
I reloaded with a fresh magazine and ran over to the bodies. From there, I removed the .45 bullets and placed them in my pockets. While the bullets weren't the 230-grain bullets I was used to, they would do the job. I removed the Uzi mags and placed them in my pocket. I already had a Uzi in the car. I picked up a sheathed katana and inspected the blade. It appeared to be recently made, due to its shine and laser-honed razor edge. It could prove useful. I placed the sheath and katana at my right side.  
Around this time, the sheriff and his merry men arrived. They pointed their weapons at me. They were all dressed in leather armor, with the sheriff having a badge on his chest to show his seniority.  
"Put down your weapons!" a deputy called. Plenty of sound and fury to soften up the target, while everybody else prepares to splatter the miscreant all over the place. Standard operating procedure for every risky arrest any law enforcer makes.  
I did so. No point p o the law.  
"Put your hands above you head!"  
I complied.  
"Spread-eagle! Do it now!"  
I lay down and spread my arms and legs out.  
I heard footsteps. A minute later, the deputy searched me. He wasn't an expert; he missed several potential weapon hideaways. He removed my weapons and armor.  
"Clear!" As if. If I wished, I could kill him in a blink of an eye.  
He tied my hands behind my back and pulled me up. Some pressure to my back confirmed that he was still covering me.  
"You're under arrest for..."  
"Whatever. Let's go."  
They led me off.  
A couple of long, sweaty hours of marching later, I was in the Sheriff's Department of New Sacramento, California, according to the sign. The building looked like a pre-war building. I could tell by the old design and concrete walls. There were cars, but I figured that nobody wanted to drive them out of the city.  
I was marched into the building. I started recording things. The first thing I noticed was a cool blast of air in my face. That's rare. Air conditioning is still a luxury in most places. I looked around. The building was constructed entirely of white-painted concrete. A cop, who was too busy reading his newspaper to look up, manned the receptionist's desk. There were several chairs to the right of the door, ostensibly for people to wait for their turn. That was all.  
We stopped in front of the cop, who jumped to his feet.  
"Back so soon, sir?" he asked.  
"Yup. Score one for the good guys," the Sheriff replied. There were sniggers all around.  
"Carry on reading. Ain't nothing worth checking out in town, right boys?" Sheriff No-name carried on.  
"No sir," another deputy answered. There were grins all round. I think criminals have gotten to the local law. F.  
"By the way, who the f are you, boy?"  
"Smith, Jake, Major, 1386-3456-2343," I intoned.  
"You Brotherhood of Steel?" The BOS doesn't issue 'Major' as a rank. The BOS equivalent is probably a Knight Commander.  
"Smith, Jake, Major, 1386-3456-2343," was my monotonous reply.  
"What kinda answer is that?"  
I repeated the same thing.  
"Ah, who cares? Send him to the cells." The Sheriff walked off.  
I was sent to the back of the room. There were two flights of stairs: one going up, another heading down. I was led downstairs. The deputies transferred me to the warden. The basement was full of cells, of course. A pair of electric lights dominated the ceiling. They were bright enough to illuminate the entire area.  
There was nobody inside any of the cells. Now, this is strange. I was led to the one closest to the stairs.  
A deputy unlocked the cell door with an old-fashioned key. A heavy, greasy click was emitted from the keyhole when the key was turned.  
"By the way, who the h are ya?"  
"Smith, Jake, Major, 1386-3456-2343," I repeated for this guy's benefit.  
"You have military training?"  
"Smith, Jake, Major, 1386-3456-2343."  
"Is that all you can say?"  
"Smith, Jake, Major, 1386-3456-2343."  
"..."  
He removed the key and swung the door out.  
"Get yo' a in."  
I walked in. The deputies removed my bonds while covering me.  
The door was closed and locked.  
I looked around. The cell was a typical cell in the USA: one bed suspended from the wall and one toilet (hole is a better word) at the other end. Period. I went on the bed and closed my eyes. There were no blankets or pillows, just a mattress. I've slept on worse.  
  
Chapter 1: Failed recruitment  
  
Eons later, I heard the door unlock. I got up.  
"Get yo' a out. The sheriff wants to see ya."  
I was led out and to the third floor.  
The whole floor was an office, separated into various sections marked out by cubicles with signs. The cubicles seemed to be of cheap cardboard. The whole place could be wiped clean by a trained machine gunner and a decent weapon. I was walked over to the other end, passing by signs reading 'Dep. Howard Suarez', 'Dep. Frank Hardy', and so on. At the other end was a door made of oak. The words 'Sheriff Cain Shillington' were inscribed on the door. A deputy knocked on it.  
Shillington called out, "Enter."  
The door was opened for me, and I was led in. The deputies closed the door after me.  
The room had a desk made of mahogany with two flags on it: a flag of the State of California and a flag of the United States of America. A pair of chairs was in front of the desk. Shillington was behind it. He still had his armor on. He was a middle-aged man who appeared to be fit enough for the pre-war military, but not the USM. His muscles were visible at the exposed areas of his body. He had nothing remarkable. He was just an OWG (Ordinary White Guy), of which CA had plenty of, with the exception of his muscles.  
He motioned for me to sit down. I did so.  
"Some people have bailed you. You do not need to show your face around here. Your stuff's in the store downstairs. Is that clear?"  
"Yes sir. But, if you don't mind, can you tell me about this city?"  
"You can talk, eh? Well, you need to know this: there are four gangs here. They run things. I like it, and I intend to keep it that way. They are the Yakuza, Mafia, Triad, and a buncha guys who fought their way up. Donno what they do. The Yakuza are in Chinatown in the largest house in the area. Their head is Makoto Ishii. The Triad is based in the same area. They work out of a bar called Fat (he pronounced it as 'fat'. It's really pronounced as 'f-AH-t') Danny. Their head is Danny Yong. The Mafia is downtown in the casino called 'Lucky Numbers'. Their head is Anthony Puzo. The last has a bar called 'Caspian'. Their head is Thomas Lake.  
"All of them fight and kill each other every day. But, what with the money I'm being paid, I ain't gonna do nothin'. There. Now leave."  
"Yessir."  
I walked out, and was escorted to the armory. There, the quartermaster returned my equipment without a word. The guns were still in their previous condition. Everything that I had was returned. I replaced my handguns, and placed the M14 in one of the two holsters on the back of my armor, specifically designed to hold long arms. My katana was placed on the right side of my belt.  
I was then released from the station, told, in the deputy's words, to 'f off', and set loose on the pavement.  
And was met by a Japanese-American man. He was dressed in a business suit. He had an earnest expression on his face. There was nobody near him. Even the prostitutes had gone. Something's not right. I placed my right hand on my chin while my left supported it. It was called the 'Jack Benny stance'. I modified it though.  
"My name is Akira Watanabe. I work for Mr. Ishii. My-" His accent sounded Asian, all right.  
"-Boss wants to thank you for avenging the death of whoever it was that died and holds my abilities in high regard. He wants to recruit you, and so, has sent me here. Am I right?" I was offered roughly the same proposition some time ago.  
"How did you know?"  
"Some of your colleagues from other cities said pretty much the same thing."  
"So, what is your answer?"  
"F off. I don't want to join you." That was my answer to the original proposition.  
"But, you don't really have a choice in the matter." He reached into his jacket.  
I moved up to him and gave him an open palm strike (more like a push, by stepping forward while executing the strike, adding momentum to the blow) to his chin with my right hand while bringing his head forward with my left. I applied enough force to break his neck. That took slightly less than a second. He collapsed soundlessly. I searched him and came up with a Micro-Uzi. I broke it down, and tossed its parts into a nearby garbage can. I pocketed the 9 mm rounds from it first.  
I walked to my car, letting him lie on the street. I retraced my footsteps.  
There were four bodies on the car, all victims of a fatal electric shock. They were dressed like the Mafia men. It seemed that they tried to lean against it. They evidently didn't read the sign. It's their fault.  
The booby trap on my car was a massive electric current running throughout the body of the vehicle. Anyone who touched it would be instantly transformed into a smoking corpse. The bunkers weren't affected since they were insulated against electric shock. I deactivated the trap with a turn of my key. A team of mechanics had modified my car to repay a debt some years ago.  
"Sir?" The accent was Chinese.  
I turned around. A Triad man, flanked by a pair of burly men, was in my sights. I slowly moved my hands to my cocked and locked pistols. My rifle would be useless at the range they were at.  
"My name is Wong Jun (pronounced 'gene' at high speed) Jie. I-"  
"No."  
"Then-" 'I have to kill you' was the sentence he didn't quite get to finish.  
I pulled out my pistols at lightning speed. The pistol in my right hand aligned itself with the face of the gangster on Wong's left, and the pistol on my left went to the other enforcer's face. I pulled the trigger once, and both faces caved inwards, blowing out copious amounts of blood, brains, and bone out the other side.  
Wong turned to run. That only changed the point of impact.  
His head suddenly disappeared in a flash of light. His murderer was about 25 meters in front of me, revealed by Wong's collapse. I holstered my pistols and switched to my M14. I aimed at the shooter. He was holding a smoking pistol. It had to be an energy gun, but I couldn't make it out. He walked forward, hands in the air. My trigger finger came off its index point and touched the trigger. I aligned the rifle's front sight with his face.  
"That problem's solved. You must be the new guy. I've heard all about you. I'm offering you a chance to join us. My boss is Mr. Lake. A lifetime of-" he wheedled on.  
"Crime awaits me. Tell your boss no."  
He shook his head resignedly. He sighed. I applied more pressure on the trigger. The first stage of the custom two-stage military trigger broke.  
His pistol came down as he dove back. My sights were aligned with his neck. The trigger broke at 4 pounds, starting a process that terminated in the firing off a round, causing its replacement to move up upon ejection. That bullet missed by a hair. I aimed low. He got off a shot that collided with one of the corpses on the car. A smoking hole replaced its burnt flesh at the POI. He had missed by a centimeter. He tried to correct his aim when I fired a burst of three.  
My burst struck true, riddling his abdomen with NATO rounds, creating a very bloody, jagged hole. He was down, but not out, incredible as it may seem. He was still breathing. He would either bleed to death or ...get a bullet in the head.  
I walked over to him. He tried to raise his pistol, but didn't have the strength to do so. He whispered, "F you..." and coughed out a mouthful of blood. He bled out when I reached him.  
"Right back at you."  
I checked the pistol. It was a Glock 68 plasma pistol, designed by Glock of (former) Austria, meant for military and police work. It had a 16- shot clip, and is popular with elite units that needed a compact and heavy- hitting pistol that is extremely reliable. I already had one, so I ejected the clip and placed it with my ammunition container.  
The fact that these criminals could get their hands on energy weapons meant that something was wrong.  
A quick search of every body yielded 3 Browning High Powers, 36 bullets of 9 mm Parabellum, 1 Thompson M1A1, 30 bullets of .45 ACP, 3 FN FALs, 90 .308 Winchester bullets, and $800. I kept the money and ammo, and discarded the rest.  
I entered my car, and drove off. The 'Sheriff' wouldn't do anything, so there's no point informing him of this incident.  
  
Chapter 2: Ambush at Hope Hospital  
  
I drove to the city's hospital. It was named, rather appropriately, 'Hope'. It was, after all, the only hope any seriously ill and/or wounded person had here. It was founded a little over a year ago.  
A man named Doctor (real MD. Trained by Vault 3's successors) Sam O'Sullivan was its founder and chief surgeon. He was the finest medic and doctor I had ever worked with. He was also part of the STF. He was a genius at battlefield medicine, as the men whose lives he saved will say. His call sign was 'Doc'.  
Hope was split into three levels. The first floor had the waiting room, ER, and other areas associated with the immediate treatment of wounds. The second floor held the Intensive Care Unit, where those with major wounds and illnesses were housed under constant vigilance, or for those who are waiting for surgery. The third floor was for everybody else.  
Gunfire constitutes 99% of the injuries Hope deals with, thus leading to a massive search for surgeons. Fortunately enough, there are still surgeons to meet demands. The Auto-doc machine, supposedly capable of treating anything, was shot up by mobsters a week after being sent there, so surgery was required until the hospital could buy a new model. Good luck: nobody has figured out a way to build one from scratch.  
I parked the car in the car park, and got out. It was 1200, according to the Personal Information Processor I had.  
"Hey!"  
I spun around, hands on my Condition 1 pistols. My M14 was in the Hummer. It was a bunch of Japanese guys. Their attire proclaimed them to be Yakuza. No point trying to negotiate with them except using bullets.  
"You kill Akira, yes?"  
"So what if I did?"  
"We come to avenge him. Attack!"  
The Yakuza were armed with the same complement of weapons I saw: Uzis and katanas. I drew and ran behind the open car door.  
The Japanese gangsters fired their weapons. The 9 mm Parabellum rounds connected against the bulletproof door, making a loud rattle as they did so. I peeped out of the door and fired a pair of pairs at two Yakuza's heads, blowing them apart. The hot bullet casings flew into the Hummer.  
I dived out during a lull in the shooting and landed behind a Chrysalis Highwayman, firing all the while to keep them occupied. I stood up, and engaged the remaining two with double taps to the head. The guns went silent. The cases fell to the ground. I reloaded. I walked over to them and covered them with my pistols. All four were dead.  
I heard an explosion and dove to the right, catching a couple dozen of what had to be pellets in the back. If I had stayed where I was, my head would have been blown off. I turned around, feeling a warm trickling from my back. I saw a group of four mobsters armed with Winchester Model 12 shotguns. The shotgun was built for Allied troops during WWI and II for clearing out trenches, and it is still going strong, thanks to its quality design. I use something else, though.  
"He ain't dead yet!"  
"Maximum efficiency," I whispered. And everything became slower. I heard my heartbeat. I stood up and aimed at the mobsters. I pulled the triggers. The trigger broke after a nanosecond. Two bullets were issued from the barrels of the pistols. I could see their top slides move back and feed a new round. I shifted fire and pulled the triggers again when the slides stopped. And again. And again. And again. The cartridge casings flew out of the ejection ports almost simultaneously. They landed with a quiet but clear tink-tink. I could almost see the bullets fly. The gunshots sounded diffused and muted. The slugs blew the mobsters' heads apart. I heard the crystal-clear weapons effects. They collapsed without a noise. The fall felt like it took an hour.  
I raced over, and checked the whole area.  
I saw a glint of glass from one of the windows of some nearby houses. I dove forward. The proceeding gunshot sounded muted and distant.  
A bullet roared by, missing by head by a hair. I heard it impact against the road. I got up and emptied my pistols into the window. When the last cartridge casing fell, I reloaded, and broke out a high explosive grenade from my Hummer. I ran up to the house, primed the grenade, and tossed it through the window. Six seconds later, the grenade detonated. A bullet-ridden body was thrown out by the shockwave. A sniper rifle (now completely useless) was gripped in his right hand.  
"Stand down." Time resumed its pace. This was the STF's ability. One must have undergone the Ultimate Soldier Project treatment to withstand the stresses caused by moving at that speed. I stumbled back to the car park.  
I reloaded. More blood gushed out of the wounds on my back. I had been struck with enough force to break the armor. I had to repair it afterwards. Some nurses ran over to me.  
"He's still alive!" one called. I was getting dizzy due to blood loss. Everything felt warm and comfortable, but I knew that I had to get my message out first.  
"Get the Sheriff!"  
"Fat lot of good that'll do. Get me to the ER!" I called out before collapsing and blacking out.  
  
Chapter 3: O'Sullivan, Sam, Sergeant, 5647-3657-0231 Doc  
  
"Uh..."  
I sat up. A large number of bandages were swathed around my torso. I blinked several times to let my eyes focus. I was in a hospital room. Sunlight poured in from the windows. The air was cool. Had to be air conditioning. There were three other beds, but none were occupied.  
"How did I get here?" Then, I remembered. I felt a presence to my left.  
"Relax. You're safe now."  
It was a feminine voice. I turned left. There was a nurse dressed in a nurse's uniform of a knee-long skirt and a blouse, all white. Her surgical mask obscured her face. Her hair was blonde and shoulder-length. Her eyes were of a sparkling blue. A nametag read Deborah Peterson. Her hands were small enough for me to enclose. There were no rings on any of the fingers.  
She took off her mask. She had a small, button-like nose, small red lips, and had a smile that lit up the room.  
"It can't be...No, you're not."  
"Hmm?"  
The resemblance was uncanny.  
"No, no..."  
"Are you all right?"  
"N-...I'm fine. It's just that you resemble someone I know."  
"Oh? Is she your sweetheart?" she asked in jest. That only served to deepen the pain.  
"Used to be."  
"Oh?"  
"She died in my arms."  
"Oh! Oh...I'm sorry..." She meant it. I could tell by her eyes.  
"That's all right."  
A person walked in. It was...  
"Doc, it's Nemesis."  
"Neme-? Major? D! I thought you looked familiar!"  
He was dressed in a doctor's coat and brown trousers. A scar on his left cheek, caused by a 7.62 Soviet bullet that grazed his cheek a couple of ears ago, marred his ruggedly handsome face. He still kept his brown hair precisely two inches long.  
"Relax. We're civilians now. Call me whatever you want."  
"Right. Debbie, meet a former colleague of mine. He's Jake Smith, formerly a major in the United States Militiamen."  
"Nice to meet you." She shook my hands.  
He walked over and sat down on the other chair to my left. He whispered something into Deborah's ear. She whispered something on the order of "I've already found out."  
He nodded, and turned to me.  
"Jake, there seems to be a lot of new scars."  
"I know."  
"What've you been doing? Fighting?"  
"With guns."  
"Right..."  
"You know what happened to Corporal O'Toole?" She was the team sniper. And the hardest to contact.  
"Yes. It's Malloy now. She finally married Tony Malloy (one of the Unisols. We tried to ignore the romance as best as we could) last month."  
"Hmm...well...send my congratulations to them.  
"Say, why are you working here?"  
"Well, NS needs a hospital, and I figured I could help out. You won't believe the previous death rate here."  
"Try me."  
"Five people die a day."  
"This city's gonna die out at this rate."  
"Yeah, well, we managed to cut it down to two a week."  
"Great."  
"Well, on to your wounds. The good news is that there will not be any lasting damage apart from a few dozen new scars. Your armor absorbed most of the shock. It's modifications also served to absorb the impact of the blow. None of the pellets hit your spine, and none of them went beyond a half-inch penetration depth. Thank the craftsman of your armor if you can; he saved your life. I'll have it repaired."  
"What's the bad news?"  
"Well...you need to stay here for about four days. It'll take that long before you can fully recover."  
"Are you sure, Doctor? I've never seen such extensive wounds before." It was from Deborah.  
"Yes. Deb...this man represents the best of the best of the best. I can't tell you precisely why, so you must accept my explanation at face value. He is the among the fittest persons on Earth." The US project also involved giving us prototype nanomachines that speeds up healing. In fact, I only needed a couple of days for recovery.  
"If you say so, Doctor."  
"You know, you made history today."  
"Again?"  
"Yes. You have killed nine people this morning, and another nine this afternoon, making a total of eighteen, if reports are to be believed. No one has done that before." 'In this city' were the words he didn't say.  
"Actually, thirteen. Four of them killed themselves by leaning on a high-voltage electric field, and one was shot by another guy."  
"Right..."  
"Good riddance, anyway," Deborah said.  
"Oh?"  
"Yes. They are the ones responsible for so much of the evil that's happened."  
The doctor whispered into my ear.  
"Her fiancé was shot dead by the Yakuza a day before they were supposed to be married."  
"Say...if someone decided to clean up this town, and if you're asked to join him/her, will you-"  
"Definitely." 'Because, you're my CO' was the answer he didn't say.  
"I'll take you on that."  
"Right. Deb, take care of him."  
"Sure thing, Doctor O'Sullivan." Her expression didn't give away anything.  
"Jake...get some rest."  
"Doctor's orders." Then, I realized how tired I was. I closed my eyes.  
And went back...  
Back to when the pain started...  
Precisely ten years ago...  
  
Chapter 4: Pamela McRae  
  
It was May 10, 2345.  
"Hey Jake." Pamela McRae called. She was a nurse-in-training at a USM base in Southern California.  
We were in the cafeteria. She sat down in front of me. I could make out the bulge of a pistol and two magazines in her jacket's built-in holster. Everybody in the base who was trained to shoot a firearm is supposed to carry at least one all the time. In her case, it was her Browning HP-SA, successor to the Browning High Power. It was among the best- designed pistols in the world, although I preferred M1911s.  
She was dressed in her white jacket, white knee-length skirt, and matching blouse. I was in my highly polished metal armor, with my black trench coat and pants over the suit to conceal it. My pistols and six magazines were in their holsters.  
I was the Quartermaster's assistant. This was because I was only fifteen. Formal military training would start next year.  
"Hi Pam."  
There were some glances directed towards the two of us as we exchanged the usual pleasantries.  
"Leave 'em alone," was my advice to her. She heeded that. After all, let them think.  
"So...how's life?" she asked, after a few silent mouthfuls. She kept staring into my eyes.  
"You know. Boring. Routine."  
"You should see things at my end."  
"I know. I heard a couple of critically injured men are due in a day."  
"Yeah. And that's usually when all hell breaks loose."  
"True."  
The rest of the meal carried on in silence.  
"...Er...why do you keep staring into my eyes?" I asked, when we had finished.  
"Oh! I was?" She blushed. She looked down. She got up.  
"Umm...excuse me," she said.  
She ran off, after placing her plate and utensils in the wash area.  
Then, I realized why she did that. After that, I commanded myself to stay focused.  
The General Alarm sounded an hour after that. By then, I was back at my post, and Pam was back at hers.  
"S!" The QM exclaimed. He was a tall, strong man, dressed in leather armor. His weather-lined and scarred face reflected his many years in operations until a bullet to his left hip severed a nerve and sent him to a job as the new QM eight years ago.  
He didn't swear much, but he had good reason to.  
The Alarm meant that we had been invaded.  
"Jake! Ready the arms and ammo! Get a few cocked and locked in case they come here!"  
"Already done, sir!" I always keep one half of the armory's weapons in Condition One (fully loaded, cocked and locked) at any point of time.  
"Good boy!"  
"Intruders at Transport. All personnel draw arms and repel invaders..."  
The alarm lights mounted every three feet started to flash and rotate. The Armory was next to Transport, so-  
The QM rushed (gimped, really) to the lockdown button. I had readied my twin P-O pistols. I didn't have any formal training, but the QM noticed my flair with the twin pistols and taught me how to use them since I was ten.  
I went to prep the other arms when I saw the QM draw his Colt National Match. He hurried to the button, firing one-handedly at something. He got off three shots before being cut down by several bursts. He was separated into several parts. The blood spray decorated the metal floor.  
His death spurred me into action. I raised the pistols and stood up. The table provided enough cover for my abdomen.  
A trio of raiders ran in. They were dressed in leather armor and were armed with AK-47s. I aimed my pistols at their heads. I pulled the customized 4-pound triggers straight back with the first pad of my index fingers, just like what the QM and his buddies taught me. The pistols jumped lightly, and sent two rounds into the heads of the raider I shifted fire, killing the second one. The third whipped his head around in time to receive a double-tap to the forehead. The whole process took three seconds. The gunfire sounded exceptionally loud in the cramped Store. I ran out of the room.  
The SOP for the area that was breached by invaders was to hit the lockdown button. That was located next to the massive steel door. I covered the door while running for it. The sound of gunfire from the other rooms became audible. A raider appeared in front of my sights. I didn't think about anything, I just pulled the triggers. He collapsed in a spray of blood, brains and bone. I reached the button and pressed it. The door responded immediately.  
Outside, the raiders tried to rush the door. One almost made it, but crashed into the steel door just when it closed. I heard his cursing from the other side. I heard a crunch. He could have broken his nose.  
I released my fingers from the triggers, and placed them on my index points on the guns. Index point refers to a spot on the weapon where your finger can instinctively travel to when the finger is off the trigger. It's easier to do that than to point your finger straight out. Besides, one's finger may be blown off by a freak chance.  
The guards rushed in. There were twelve of them. Standard Operating Procedure dictated that four guards armed with Remington 870 shotguns enter the room to fill it with buckshot if it is full of targets. Four MP-5-armed guards follow behind to deliver any precision shots if required. The next four were armed with M60E4 machineguns to mop up. All had Desert Eagles as backup weapons.  
"You all right, kid?" the leader asked. I nodded. Everybody covered the openings.  
"D. The QM's dead," one of the guardsmen said.  
"S...who shot the raiders?"  
"I did, sir."  
He looked at me incredulously. That was until he smelt the cordite and saw the gun smoke curling up from my twin P-14/45s.  
"D! That's some real fancy shooting, kid. I don't think even I could do it." His tone projected his incredulity.  
"Thank s...  
"No-!" Pam was there. I had to get to her!  
"What is it?"  
"The Infirmary! We gotta-"  
"Kid, yo-"  
I had rushed out before I heard what he had to say.  
I had to take the long route to the Infirmary since the shortcut had been cut off. I left the Store by the east exit.  
I turned right. A long corridor greeted me. A stream of warriors ran towards me.  
"Half of the armory's weapons are in Condition One! Pick 'em and load the rest!" I pushed through the crowd and turned left at the left turn.  
"Where're you going?"  
"Infirmary!"  
I made my way to the junction. The corridor had been locked down. I deactivated it, ran through, and pushed the lockdown button again before anyone could say a word.  
The base was connected by a series of corridors connected to a common one. Only authorized personnel could lock all of the corridors down. When I pressed the lockdown button, an iris scanner scanned my eyes to ensure that I was properly authorized to lockdown the area. And the lockdown buttons only work if the Alarm has been sounded.  
I reloaded. I ran down the corridor.  
I saw a bunch of raiders coming my way. All were armed with AK-47s. They had not spotted me yet.  
Training dictates that one should find cover. But, the corridor had no cover. I made do.  
I raised my pistols lightning-quick, and fired off at the raiders while strafing left and right. A hail of lead was issued from my almost continuously firing guns. The bullets traveled down the narrow corridor, smashing into heads, spraying the walls with blood, brains and bone. Muzzle flashes and reports complemented each trigger pull. I kept on firing. They all died before the hit the ground. Then, I heard the loudest sound in the world. Meanwhile, the security cameras later showed that I looked like some sort of cool-looking big hero with two blazing pistols.  
Click, click.  
I ejected the magazines, drew a fresh one with two fingers gripping the base (my magazine was already oriented outwards thanks to the configuration of the magazine holders), and rammed it home into the right pistol before grabbing a fresh one and doing the same to the left pistol. I slapped the bottom of each magazine with my forearm to ensure that the mag was seated properly. I disengaged the slide lock by crossing over and using the other pistol's side to disengage it, and moved back to disengage the other pistol's slide lock with the barrel of the first pistol. I completed the process at a speed I never thought possible: 2.5 seconds, according to the security footage.  
I fired down the corridor at a new batch of raiders that appeared. A storm of bullets was once more unleashed from my hot and smoking guns, blowing apart heads and decorating the area with more organic matter. Screams were issued from the raiders' mouths. I kept pulling triggers, firing on and on and on. The bullets streaked down the blood-soaked corridor at supersonic velocities before impacting on their targets and blowing out whatever they hit when they exited the targets (I had loaded my pistols with hardball bullets, not jacketed hollow points. JHPs were more expensive, and I intended to get some range time after I had finished my duties). They fell down, dead.  
I reloaded. I stood, ready to fire some more. I was temporarily deaf from firing so many bullets in an enclosed area. All I heard was a ringing in my ears. The cordite tickled my throat. Sweat poured down my face.  
I decided I had waited enough. I picked up an AK-47 and three magazines, which were stuffed into my rifle magazine holders in my trousers.  
I made my way to the Infirmary, careful not to slip. I heard the guardsmen's cries when I stepped into the Infirmary.  
I looked around.  
The area I could see was awash in blood, mostly that of the medics, but some of the raiders had been shot down. Cartridge cases littered the floor, along with fallen guns. There were three areas in the Infirmary. The one I could see was for 'ordinary' people. The beds were empty, with medication packs standing by. We had incoming wounded, after all. Pam was assigned to the Intensive Care Unit, next to the ordinary wards. I turned left, and headed for the door, full of adrenaline and dread.  
It automatically opened, and my worst fears were confirmed.  
The area was full of blood, bullet casings, bullet holes, and bodies. I made my way to the end of the room, passing by a dozen slumped bodies, some with guns in their hands. Some were unarmed.  
"F."  
I reached the end of the room. A raider was lying face up. Fourteen bullet holes decorated his armor, torso, and face. His blood was quickly forming a pool around his corpse. An AK-47 was in his hands.  
I saw Pam's body. She was riddled with bullet holes, still issuing blood. An IV line was stuck into her left arm, which explained her longevity. Its fluid packet was almost empty of artificial blood. Her Browning was locked back on empty. Fourteen bullet casings were around her body. Her mouth issued some blood. Her chest heaved. She was alive, but just.  
"Jake...?"  
"I'm here."  
"Jake-" she coughed up more blood.  
"Hush. Don't talk. Rest now."  
"No. Jake, I, I need to-"  
"Save it for later."  
"Jake, I must tell you-"  
"Pam?"  
"Jake...since we met, I've always felt-" she coughed up more blood.  
"Pam, you're just stressing yourself..."  
"-Some...kind of bond between the both of us..."  
"Pam?' She was fading out.  
"I've never...realized it, but, Jake...I..." She coughed up more blood. Her wounds continued to stain her clothing.  
"I've...always...loved...you..."  
There was a final rush of air from her body. She stopped breathing. Her eyes lost their spark.  
She was dead. The only person who declared her love for me was dead.  
"Pam?"  
I checked for a pulse. There was none. There was no point trying to use CPR.  
"NO!" Somehow, that sounded diffused.  
I brought her up to my face.  
"Farewell, Pam. I'll always remember. I love you too."  
I kissed her on the lips. Hers were soft and red. The kiss felt like it took forever. I had never hugged her, much less kissed her, when she was alive, and I never will.  
After letting go, I lowered her gently to the ground.  
Perhaps the fact that I still had a job to do suppressed the initial rush of emotion. I could cry later. I ran out, and headed to the ER.  
The ER was the room adjacent to Transport. That way, the more severely injured people could receive immediate treatment upon arrival. I ran in, the auto doors opening and closing in the seconds I took to enter.  
There were only a couple of Auto-docs in the room, primed for immediate treatment. The bright white lights were switched on. The whole room smelt of disinfectant. Dust was in massive quantities on the floor. Nothing more. It was a stark contrast to the rest of the areas I had gone through.  
The door leading to Transport was still open. I ran over.  
And almost collided with a raider.  
We stared dumbfounded at each other for a second.  
Then, I remembered. I reacted first, and sent a burst of 7.62 Soviet into his lower torso. They managed to blow through his leather armor. He clutched his mortal wounds as he fell over, groaning.  
"You b! You shot me in the gut!"  
"Sorry." I corrected that aberration with a bullet to the head. I ran over to Transport.  
There were two fixed machinegun nests at the back of Transport to provide cover for any incoming friendlies. I made my way there after locking the Infirmary down.  
"HEY!"  
I turned left.  
There were a large number of raiders milling about. One of them spotted me. S!  
"KILL HIM!"  
I ran for the nest, knowing that I would have an advantage in firepower upon arrival. If I could make it.  
I sprayed wildly at the mass, not caring to aim, so long as I kept their heads down. I kept on running, and felt the impact of two bullets into my torso. They had to be yellow jacket (ordinary FMJs coated with tungsten) bullets; only they could penetrate my armor with one strike. I felt the burn, but I carried on. The pain soon faded.  
The rifle clicked on empty when I was almost at the nest. I tossed it aside, and dove the remaining distance. I rolled, and found myself behind the nest.  
The nest was a bunker built of sandbags with a Browning M2HB. It fires massive .50 inch depleted uranium rounds meant for antiaircraft and antivehicle use. Obviously, human flesh was too soft a target to resist it. I gritted my teeth at the pain. And it disappeared due to adrenaline.  
I gripped both handles and swiveled the weapon such that it pointed at the raiders, and pulled the triggers.  
The first thing that hit me was the recoil, followed by the roar of the HMG. I struggled to keep the weapon pointed at the right direction. I moved it around, mowing down the raiders with the DU bullets. I spotted a group of them and sprayed a burst into them. Upon their collapse, I turned to another and pulled the triggers. The hot brass flew out and hit the floor. There were no vehicles in Transport at this period of time, so there was no cover for the raiders.  
I felt a stab into my chest, and fell to the ground. Nanoseconds later, I felt a burn and started to bleed. The sensation faded out soon after due to adrenaline. I got up, and remounted the HMG. I swiveled and returned fire, causing the raider's group to disintegrate.  
The weapon clicked on empty. There were no more targets.  
I staggered to the lockdown button, and activated it. The recoil had taken a lot out of my battered body. I realized could not hear anything at all save for a loud ringing. My eyes had bright blue spots burned into it by the muzzle flash.  
I looked at the carnage I had wrought. The raiders were all blown apart. None of their bodies were intact. The blood flowed like a river. The raiders had been eliminated, all messily dead.  
I slumped against the wall, spent. The adrenaline rush I had fed off was gone. The pain from all of the wounds I had came through to my brain. I coughed out some blood.  
The guards came rushing in.  
"What the f happened here?! It looked like a war had been fought here." The shouts sounded like whispers.  
"A war had been fought here! Search for survivors."  
"Suh, there be no point," a not-so-bright guard pointed out.  
"OVER HERE!" I called out. And coughed up some blood. S. Good thing the Auto-docs were prepped for immediate treatment.  
"There's someone living?"  
"Go on, get him!" The ringing became less severe.  
A pair of guards got over to me and pulled me up. They placed my arms over their shoulders and picked me up.  
"You did all this?" the right guardsman asked.  
I nodded.  
"Don't worry now. You did good, you hear me? Almost no one could do what you just did. You're a hero.  
"By the way, are you in the Special Operations Group?"  
"No. I'm the Quartermaster's assistant!" I sprayed blood on the floor  
  
"Huh?" And then, it ended.  
I sat up. It was night.  
Deborah was sitting at my left, reading a book under a single light. It was titled The Storm. One of my favorite books, largely because it imitates my life story. Books were coming out, ever since some engineers rebuilt printing presses. Its first edition was in 2340.  
"What're you doing here?"  
"Listening to your nightmare. You know, you really should-" Get a shrink.  
"I know." 


	2. Part Two: Countdown

Note: In case you see a '.' immediately followed by a word without any spacing, it's really three dots. I'm not sure why this happens.  
  
Chapter 5: Discharge  
  
Four days later, I was sent for an evaluation. I had become the model patient. I didn't whine. I didn't complain. I treated everybody respectfully. Etc. The evaluation was held inside my ward.  
"Well, Jake, you're fit to go, but I think you should come back after a week for a check-up," Sam said. He had, by then, unwrapped the bandages to inspect the scar tissue on my back.  
"Right. Is my armor ready?"  
"Yes. It's with the rest of your personal items on the desk." The desk held my armor, clothes, weapons, ammunition, etc. I put on everything after shedding the hospital garb.  
I left the ward.  
On to the rest of my life.  
Deborah was waiting for me. She had a smile on.  
"Ready to go back to the world?"  
"Yes."  
"Mind if I follow you?"  
"If you please."  
We left the hospital together. We passed by the patients, nurses, all seemingly preoccupied with something to acknowledge us.  
"So... Jake, what are you working as?"  
"You can say I'm an odd-job guy specializing in certain fields."  
"I see... "  
We spoke again at the parking lot.  
"Say... mind if I invite you for dinner?"  
"Oh? Whatever for?"  
"... Er... "  
"...Ah. Sure. When?"  
"Um... next week after my shift?" I knew hers ended at 1800 hrs. No, no, it's 6.00 PM now. You're a civilian.  
"All right."  
"Meet me in the lobby?"  
"Fine with me."  
"So... it's a date?"  
"Yep."  
"Okay. See you then." We were outside my vehicle.  
That was when several men drove to the front of the hospital and jumped out. One of them was holding a blood-spattered teenager in his hands. All were armed with Uzis except for the child. The weapons were smoking, and they all looked like they had come out from a war.  
"INCOMING WOUNDED!" I shouted. And raced to my medical supplies.  
Deborah turned.  
"No... it's not-"  
"What?"  
"It's Michael Farrington, the mayor's son. He was trying to force the gangsters to leave... I have to go!"  
"Go! Prep the ER!" Forcing gangsters to leave, eh? He could come in handy. I grabbed a pair of stimpaks.  
I raced to the BGs.  
"You know how to apply stims?" I asked of the lead BG.  
"Who are you? I do, if you must know."  
"A friend. And a stranger. Name's Smith, Jake."  
I passed him the stims and got to my Hummer before driving off. The BG applied the stims before the ER team took over.  
  
Chapter 5: Base of Operations  
  
I needed a secure location to place my gear...and a base of operations.  
There was a hotel a couple of hundred meters away from the city. It was called California Star. It was a decent-looking place, with cheerful yellow as its color scheme. It appeared to be untouched by the rot within the city. It was good enough.  
I drove to its parking lot. I got out, weapons ready. One never takes any chances in the Wasteland unless it is absolutely necessary.  
I opened the front door, walked in, and headed to the receptionist. The 'lobby' was just a void with a desk and a person manning it. There was a flight of stairs at the back of a corridor that connected the stairs to the lobby.  
"Good day ma'am. I wish to book a room..."  
The receptionist was a tired-looking woman in her forties. She had a cotton shirt on, obviously pre-war. There were patches here and there. Her trousers were made of brahmin hide.  
A smile from her made her look twenty years younger.  
"Yes sir. What kind of room are you looking for?"  
"I need one normal single-bed room. However, I'm here in advance of a certain company. I need five additional rooms, all next to and/or opposite each other. Is that fine ma'am?" She checked her records.  
"Oh yes. We've got plenty of rooms. And don't call me 'ma'am'. Everybody calls me Jaime."  
"Okay Jaime."  
"Here're the keys." She passed me the keys.  
"Thank you."  
"Say... you sound awfully polite. Are you from around here?"  
"Well, I was raised to be polite to everybody." By the instructors of the USM.  
"Why're you here?"  
"Er... I think it's better if you don't know."  
"You a hitman?"  
"No! No. I used to battle it out with criminals like them."  
"Really? You have the look of all the gunfighters I had seen in the past."  
"Remember Crazy Dog?"  
"Of course!" Daniel 'Crazy Dog' (surname unknown) was responsible for a crime wave of rapes, robberies, gunfights, and so on that swept California, lower Nevada and parts of Mexico two years ago. He was finally gunned down in a two-hour gunfight in his hideout in an old raider encampment (that was swept clean of criminal elements several decades ago by a party of adventurers) that was several miles south of Vault City in Northern California last year.  
"I was on the task force that went after him. My burst killed him." My eyes told her the truth. I didn't tell her what happened after the gunfight.  
"I see... so, what do you do?"  
"Odd jobs. Nothing illegal."  
"That's what all those criminals say."  
"Jaime, I plan to cleanse the city of evil if you must know.  
"Really? About time someone did something about that devil's city."  
"I'd sure appreciate it if you 'forgot' to record my existence here, and pretend that I don't exist. It'll save a lot of trouble."  
"Sure thing."  
"See ya."  
I transferred my stuff into my room. As it turns out, it was a modest apartment. There was a cupboard at one end, and a table with a chair at the end. The bathroom was adequately furnished with toilet bowl and shower (the Sewerage Company, established 2321, helped to re-establish the sewerage system, which was mostly untouched by the Bombs). A bed was the centerpiece of the room. That was all. I had slept in worse.  
I sat at the table, took out several pieces of paper, a pencil, and began to write. Following that, I drew a couple of plans. I let the ideas swim around in my head. It was 1900 before I left for a meal.  
Upon my return, I showered, and carried on. It was 0000 before I turned in.  
  
Chapter 6: Michael Farrington  
  
It took three days before I decided to pay Farrington a visit.  
I went to Hope Hospital, and approached the receptionist.  
"Excuse me."  
The receptionist looked up.  
"How may I help you? Hey... you look familiar... "  
"I understand that you have a patient here by the name of Michael Farrington."  
"Are you a friend of his?"  
"My name is Jake Smith."  
"Jake... !"  
"Yes."  
"He's in Ward 10."  
"Thank you."  
I went into the ward. Once again, only one bed was occupied. Four men were guarding the teenager in the bed. The aforementioned teenager was dressed in bandages. The other BGs were in business suits.  
"Who are you?"  
"Jake Smith."  
"Jake Smith!" the BG exclaimed. It was the same man I passed the stimpaks to.  
"Yeah."  
"Well! The docs said that you saved his life! The stimpaks stopped the bleeding. Thanks a lot, man."  
"Don't mention it."  
"So, why are you here?"  
"I want to discuss a few things with Mr. Farrington."  
"Sure thing."  
I went over the M. Farrington.  
"Mr. Farrington?"  
"Call me Mike," he replied.  
"Okay, Mike. I've heard that you're trying to push out these gangsters."  
"Yes. But I can't do anything right now. I only have my bodyguards to do my fighting."  
"Excellent. It seems that we have the same goal."  
"Really?"  
"Yes. I used to be in the United States Militiamen."  
"Really? My brother's in it. He's Dave. Heard of him?"  
"Dave Farrington? He's the new Quartermaster." After the last one died.  
"Good. Good."  
"Back to my proposal. I pro-"  
"Accepted. I've got a network of snitches that have all the information that you need. I've got three hundred grand in my bank account in the New Sacramento First Bank. Use it." He told me the account number and how to contact the snitches.  
"Thank you. Why did you-"  
"You are well-regarded as a trustworthy person. I'm sure you'll stick to your word."  
"Thank you. If you don't mind, I'll do my part."  
"Wait."  
"Yes?"  
"Show those bs no mercy."  
"Don't worry. I won't."  
"Good."  
I left, and bumped into Sam.  
"Well, Jake, it isn't time for your check-up yet."  
"It isn't. I wanted to check up on Michael Farrington."  
"Ah, yes. He's a piece of work. He trains every day in everything from marksmanship to CQB (close quarters battle). You saved his life. I was the chief surgeon for this operation. The stims helped to prep him for an immediate knife and stopped the bleeding."  
"Thanks. Hmm... Say, if I ask you to join me to do something for the common good, will you join, even if it is technically illegal? Payment-"  
"Sir, in for a penny, in for a pound, going to heaven, going to hell, I'm along for the ride. Once the team's been assembled, tell me where to go, and I'll be there. And stuff the money."  
"Thank you, Sam."  
"You're welcome. Debbie says hi."  
He left.  
I went to the lobby, just in time to see Debbie.  
"Hi Jake," she greeted before giving me one of those smiles she was famed for.  
"Hello Deb."  
"Our date's still on?"  
"Of course."  
"Are you here for Mike?"  
  
"Yes. Tell me, is he really anti-gangster?"  
"Yes."  
"Hmm... All right...  
"Bye."  
"Bye."  
We left. I had somewhere to go.  
  
Chapter 7: Ammo, Cash and Info  
  
My first stop was the local gun store. It was a single floor structure built of brick. The store was called New Sacramento Arms.  
I walked in. The owner was a lean man dressed in a green bush jacket and brown pants.  
"Howdy. Name's Chris. I'm from Texas. How can I help you?"  
"I'm looking to buy a lot of ammo. .45, 9 mil, 7.62 Russian, .308 Winchester, and 12 gauge.  
"You looking for ball or hollowpoint?"  
"Both."  
"Okay..."  
I went through his ammo lists before selecting what I wanted. I purchased two thousand 7.62 and .308 bullets, two hundred .45 and 9 mm bullets (half of them was JHP), a hundred 12 gauge shells of double ought buckshot, a hundred shells of slugs, and a hundred shells of flechettes. Total cost was two thousand dollars.  
"Say, you lookin' for a gun?"  
"No, I'm not."  
"Really? I've got this 14 mm pistol... "  
"No. I've got more than enough."  
"Fine with me... you going to war or somethin'?"  
"Something like that."  
"Not my business anyway. Take care now."  
"You too."  
I left, and headed to the bank. There, I withdrew the money, and prepared to go to the snitches.  
Eight hours later, I had the info I needed, and went back to my apartment.  
  
Chapter 8: Declaration of War  
  
I calculated, and recalculated, and noted how much time I would need. I scouted various sniping spots as covertly as I could, and so on and so forth. I filed my notes properly. It took four days before I was ready. I went to Hope Hospital.  
"So, Jake, how goes your preparations?" Sam asked, when we were alone.  
"Fine. I'll round up the others. I've booked a room in the..." I told him about his room.  
"Yes sir. My weapons are ready."  
"Sam...buy a lot of ammo."  
"Yes sir!"  
"Good. Now, let's get back to my back."  
After the inspection, I was pronounced fit. I walked out to the lobby. It was 1800.  
Debbie walked over. She had changed out of her uniform into a white jacket, white shirt, and white trousers. She had another of her world- famous smiles. Once, I overheard someone saying that she was an 'angel in white'. Now, I understood.  
Her resemblance to Pam was uncanny. I nearly called out her name before I remembered that she was dead.  
"Shall we go?"  
"Milady's carriage awaits."  
We walked out of the hospital, attracting stares from everybody.  
"Just ignore them."  
"I always do."  
"Excellent."  
We reached my vehicle. After we went in, I started driving.  
"So...where're we going now?" I asked.  
"There's a diner at..." she gave me the directions.  
"Off we go."  
After some time, she spoke up.  
"You know...you're kinda ...different from everybody else."  
"Oh? How so?"  
"You have this perpetual air of a weary man: tired-looking, a little sad, your eyes reflecting experiences that are like you've walked through hell. Not even the battle-hardened mobsters have your look."  
"I have walked through hell."  
"Oh. Heard of Akira Watanabe before? He killed my fiancé."  
"Him? He's dead."  
"Thank you."  
"For killing people?"  
"...Since you put it so bluntly, yes."  
"Don't thank me."  
"I see. Why are you an ex-militiaman?"  
"One year ago, my team and I were tasked with eliminating a raider base in Northern California. After that op, we located evidence that one of our generals had defected to the enemy and was planning an assault on USM HQ. We caught up with him after a day, and killed him and enough raiders to force a strategic retreat by the enemy.  
"When we returned, the top brass thought that it was an unauthorized action, so we were dismissed after a mock trial. They said that the general was undercover. If he were, he didn't say so. It doesn't matter now."  
"Why?"  
"It's over. The only thing to look forward to is the hope of a better future."  
"I see ...and I presume you're going to kill the gangsters?"  
"I won't answer that."  
We drove on. In the downtown area, I noticed a car behind me, and another one in front of me, had driven into my line of sight. Something's wrong...  
"Debbie, get down, and don't lift your head until I say it's okay."  
"How come?"  
"I think we're being followed. You've got a gun?"  
"Yes. A Browning High Power and two magazines. Total of 39 bullets."  
"Good. Take it out of your holster, and get ready for a battle. Keep it low and out of sight, but not in a pocket. Shoot for heads or chests. Just in case." Both cars slowed down.  
"Oh s!" Both cars had turned and stopped, blocking off the road.  
I swerved to the left just in time to avoid a burst of automatic fire from the front car's rear occupants. The car at the back received some bullets. I guessed that the rifles were H & K G3s from the sound. The rear car's fire was more accurate, and the bullets impacted into the doors. I drew my pistols.  
"STAY DOWN!  
"Maximum efficiency."  
"Huh?" her voice was very clear.  
"Stay down."  
I opened the door, and got out. I aimed at the front car's back occupants. They were armed with G3s, like I had guessed. They reloaded. I raised my pistols and pulled the triggers. The spent casings flew out of the ejection ports a millisecond after the shots. I turned towards the other occupant and pulled the triggers. I heard the muted shots, and saw the bullets fly. The bullets entered their heads, flattened, and blew their brains out.  
I fired a double-tap into the driver's head, and spun around. I was surprised at the lack of sound from the other vehicle. I looked at the rear occupants.  
"S!"  
They had taken rocket launchers into the fray. The warheads were filled with some sort of flammable liquid. This was called an incendiary warhead by Nebula Enterprises, which built the warheads. The fuse was exposed at the tip. I could use that to my advantage. I aimed at one of the rocket's warhead instead, and fired at its fuse. Four shots later, the fuse detonated the liquid. The flame quickly spread throughout the back seats. The other warhead blew up. The driver tried to get away, even though he was still on fire. Two .45 bullets crashed through the passenger's window and exploded his head, scattering blood, brains, and bone all over the place. The occupants screamed for a few seconds, and died as the flames consumed them.  
The last of the cartridge casings fell to the floor. I reloaded.  
"Stand down."  
I ran back to the Hummer.  
"You all right?"  
"Yes, yes."  
"Good. Let's get outta here."  
"Are you okay?"  
"I'm not scathed."  
"What about them?"  
"They're dead."  
"What did you do to the back car?"  
"I detonated the warhead of one of the rocket launchers there by shooting the fuse. The fuse is really a pressure-sensitive switch that blows an explosive block that lights the warhead's payload."  
"Great thinking."  
"Thank you."  
"No, thank you."  
"For killing people?"  
"No. For saving our lives."  
"You're welcome. They've just declared war. I'm gonna do something about that."  
  
"Like?"  
  
"...You don't need to know."  
"What are we going to say to the sheriff?"  
"You weren't here, and I won't have to."  
"Why?"  
"I'm leaving town to do some business."  
"I see ...was that the only option you had?"  
"Killing them? No. I could have just rammed through the front vehicle and break the roadblock. However, I wanted to send the gangs a message: don't mess with me."  
We drove the remaining distance to the diner in silence. I parked the car opposite it. I turned to look at it. A man was sitting at a table directly next to the windows. A woman crossed the street. A boy was walking down the street. Everything seemed normal. Or so I thought. A woman walked in front of us. Some more civilians appeared on the scene.  
I barely had time to register more details before I saw a flash. The flash was accompanied by a wave of sound and energy that almost tipped the Hummer over. The man disappeared. The kid was blown to his left by several feet. The woman crossing the street was blown back when she was within range of the flying glass. The person in front of me was knocked back by the blast. Same thing went for the people. Flying glass and debris impacted against the vehicle. The whole diner had gone up in a bomb blast. The dead and dying filled the streets. The only reason why we were not in worse shape was probably because we were in my armored Hummer.  
We blinked several times while trying to hear amidst the ringing in our ears. Then, we reacted.  
"No..."  
I turned to Deborah Peterson. She was still in shock.  
"Deborah, you're a nurse. Help me!"  
She blinked, and got into action. She exited the vehicle while I headed for the medical supplies in their bunker.  
I broke out the first-aid kits, doctor's bags, stimpaks, and got to work.  
"Deborah!"  
"Yes?"  
"Is there a radio station in the hospital?"  
"Yes."  
"Okay. Wait a second."  
I took out a Watts Model-G (the latest model) radio, which can be used for civilian and military use, thanks to its built-in encrypter.  
"What's the hospital's freq?"  
"123.56!"  
"Got it." I changed the frequency, and pushed the transmit button.  
"This is an emergency! A bomb has gone off outside the Star Diner in the downtown area. I count at least twelve dead and fifteen wounded. Get your entire fleet of ambulances here, over!"  
"Roger that. Who are you, over?"  
"I'm Jake Smith."  
"Jake...Yessir! We're on it!" He started to sound like a nervous soldier who was eager to please.  
"Prep your ER and alert every surgeon!"  
"Yessir!"  
  
"How long before ambulances arrive?"  
"About five minutes, sir!"  
"Right. Smith out." I turned to Deborah.  
"C'mon, let's go!"  
"You have medical training?"  
  
"Yes. Catch!"  
I tossed her a pair of first-aid kits, a pair of doctor's bags, and a pair of trauma packs. I took the same load.  
"Deborah, I'm gonna leave the med supplies here. If you need more, come here and take some more!"  
"Got it!"  
We ran towards ground zero.  
The last time this had happened was in Kansas City, when the STF was called up to assist the city, as well as the Brotherhood of Steel, against a group of terrorists. After a hectic weeklong campaign, we finally put down the terrorists...who actually had good cause to rebel against the mayor. They were treated like third-class citizens because they were African- Americans.  
I headed to the closest area I could each. Whoever's the closest to ground zero needs medical emergency immediately, and medical need decreased the further one got from ground zero.  
I reached my first patient, the man eating at the window. He was a mess. The blast had seared off the skin on the left side of his face, just stopping at the eye. His left arm was dangling on by a few strips of skin and bone. His left hand was on the ground a few feet from him. Blood was spilling from his chest and wounds. He looked like he had been blown out of the window. He was, incredibly, still conscious. He appeared to be very fit. That helped. He was also probably some distance from the bomb.  
"Uh ..." he moaned.  
"Shh ...I'm a friend. Stay still, it won't hurt any more."  
The standard trauma pack was a container filled with very powerful chemicals (based on the stimpak's chems) attached to an injection unit. I just had to push a button and the injector would fall off to give way to a new one, so I could reuse it.  
The pack was very simple to use: insert injector into blood vessel, push chemical release button, hold for ten seconds, and the procedure is done.  
I injected the patient with a dose of chemical. Immediately his wounds started to seal and the bleeding stopped. This was because the chemicals forced the body's natural healing process to speed up tremendously. His skin started to regrow. His left arm had to be reattached by surgery, and the same went for his left hand. While the trauma pack caused a lot of damage to the body after some time, the patient will still survive, and the hospital can do the rest. I pushed the eject button, and the injector fell out. A new one took its place.  
"Thanks, man. Doesn't hurt so bad now."  
"You're welcome. Stay here. Not all the damage has been repaired. The surgeons at Hope Hospital can do the rest."  
I injected the hand with a stimpak and placed the former on his left. The chemicals will help to seal the blood vessels and preserve the tissue, so reattachment can be done.  
I ran to another victim. She was on the street. She had received a helping of glass all over her body, and she was face-up, and bleeding to death. She was not so lucky. A glass shard had punctured her left eye, and several narrowly missed her right. Several shards had penetrated the leather jacket she was wearing. Apparently, she had been facing the window on the street before the blast. She was blown several inches back. The only thing I could do was to help stop the bleeding. Only qualified surgeons with the right equipment can take out the shards, since they help the plug the wounds. She was screaming; shock had given way to pain.  
"Don't worry, ma'am. If you're still alive, you gonna walk away from this." I took out a pair of stimpaks.  
"Really? Oh f!"  
"Yes. I've seen men bounce back after taking worse injuries. I should know; I used to be a militiaman."  
"You're the expert...F, it hurts..." I prepared to insert to inject the chemicals.  
"Okay, only qualified surgeons can remove the shards safely, since they are plugging up the wounds. So, I'll just stop the bleeding, and repair any internal damage."  
I inserted the stims into two major blood vessels. A few minutes from now, the exposed area of the wounds would be healed, and stop the bleeding.  
"I'll have to attend to other people. I'm going now."  
I ran to another victim. He was a child, all of ten years old. F them! I couldn't care less if I was the target, but if they killed children and civilians, I get serious. I decided mentally to kill them all.  
He had his right arm blown off. That was all, fortunately. He was still suffering from shock. I think he was blown out of the window, judging by his position on the ground.  
"You all right, son?"  
"Uh...yeah, yeah."  
"Good. I'll stop the bleeding, and the docs can fix the rest. Okay?"  
He didn't respond. He had slipped into shock.  
I took out a super stimpak and an ordinary one, and injected them into him. The blood vessels sealed themselves. I injected a stimpak into his right arm to repair the damage to it and placed it on his right. Deborah was tending to the ones on the street.  
I ran to another victim. She was the one in front of me before the blast. Fortunately, she was just thrown to the pavement. She appeared to have a mild concussion though. There was nothing I could do except to inject a stimpak into her.  
I suddenly heard the crescendo of sirens in the distance. The ambulances were on site. Shillington was also on the site. I headed for the medics, who were exiting their vehicles.  
"There're still a few more casualties on the ground. We did the best we could. Use your judgment and load those who need immediate medical attention first into your vehicles!"  
"Yessir!" they shouted, before getting their kits out. I went over to Shillington.  
"You know who did this?"  
"Probably Puzo. This is Yakuza territory, and they're fighting a war right now. I'm not gonna do anything about it," was the reply in a devil- may-care tone.  
"Listen, Shillington! Tell your bosses that I'm not gonna stand this s! Tell 'em that I'm coming for them!" I headed for the Hummer.  
"Who the h are you to talk to me like that?!" he yelled.  
I had driven off by then. My mind was stone cold. I initiated my plan in advance. I got on the radio.  
"This is Smith again."  
"Yessir?"  
"Tell Nurse Deborah Peterson that Jake Smith sends his apologies, but must leave town immediately to do something of great importance. I'll be back within a fortnight. I'll visit her in the hospital when I return. Tell Mike Farrington that war has been declared, and the armies are gathering. Got that?"  
"Yessir!"  
"Good. Out."  
I drove out of town and into the cold night. Next stop: Dante Town, CA. 


	3. Part Three: The Army of Six

Chapter 9: Foster, David, Corporal, 1256-8963-4531 Tech  
  
David Foster made his living applying his genius at science and technology in all fields in the city of Silver City. He owns a shop dedicated to science ...and I don't mean with books alone.  
I stepped into his shop. It was filed with various electronic devices, and books about science. He was behind the counter. He was also my second-in-command, and a very reliable one at that.  
He was an African-American, but I personally made sure that racism would not be tolerated in the USM. He was the do-everything-for-yer-sir kind of man. He was noted with his skill with bombs as well, and routinely showed off his marksmanship with his weapons.  
"Sir?"  
"Good day, David. And call me Jake."  
"Okay, Jake."  
"Good. David, you free now?"  
"Yes."  
"Excellent. I need some assistance..." I told him of New Sacramento.  
"I'm in. What do I need?"  
"You'll need your special sensor-triggered mines, explosives, and so on. We'll also need five radios. I already have one. Watts Model-G, the same we used. For weapons, your Colt Gold Cup National Match Mark IV/Series 80 (called the National Match as well, but it all depends on year of production, features, etc.), AKMS-47, and plenty of ammunition. Figure about five hundred bullets each." He usually handled comms and electronic devices, so he had less weaponry. That did not mean that he was a slouch in combat. I saw him take on twenty raiders once with his Colt. When the dust settled, he was carrying his AKMS and surrounded by dead bodies. And there was nary a scratch on him. That feat did not change his call sign, however.  
"Roger that. Where do I go?"  
I told him.  
"I'll leave right away."  
"Got it. You have a family?"  
"No."  
"Good."  
"Say...where'd you got your pistols from?"  
"Well...when I was twelve, I went out with a couple of soldiers for survival training. Then, this raider with those two pistols showed up. There're pretty rare; I figure they'll cost about a couple hundred grand each. I was the closest, and disarmed him. He was then shot in the head by one of the soldiers. And, when I checked the pistols, they were filled with dust, dirt, and other what-have-you. After I cleaned them, the QM said that I could keep them, if I could use them properly. And I could."  
"I see...well, I'd better get to work."  
"See you around."  
I left, and went to my car. I drove to the New California Republic.  
  
Chapter 10: Steele, Ulysses, Sergeant, 3423-7846-7421 Gunman  
  
The NCR was a decent city, with decent people and an effective police and army. Nobody would want to mess with the NCR. No weapons are allowed in the city unless they are kept in their holsters, which may be exposed.  
I parked in the bazaar outside the actual city. I walked to the guard at the gate.  
"Welcome to the NCR, sir. We'd appreciate it if those guns of yours are kept in their holsters."  
"Don't worry, they will stay there."  
"Okay." He lifted the gate by activating the controls next to it.  
"Thank you."  
I walked into the city. The streets were lined with blue-uniformed police officers standing at attention wielding Winchester 'Citykiller' shotguns. I walked past them, and headed to a particular house.  
I knocked on the door, and it opened immediately.  
"Major?" A tall barrel-chested Caucasian man greeted me. He weighed 275 pounds, all muscle. He was the UMS's big gun expert. He was the head instructor until he was sent to Unisol training...and when he was free, he would help train the recruits.  
"Howdy, Ulysses. Call me Jake. Mind if I talked to you?"  
"Go ahead, Jake."  
"Okay..." I briefed him about New Sacramento.  
"So you want to do something about it?"  
"Yeah. I intend to eliminate the gangs."  
"Sounds like you need a lot of firepower."  
"True."  
"I reckon that I am the sort of man you are looking for, right?"  
"Correct."  
"Count me in. What do I need?"  
"First, your Browning Automatic Rifle. You can bring your PKM if you like. You'll also need your Galil ARM. Finally, you'll need your Smith & Wesson Model 29. You'll definitely need a lot of ammo." I gave him the directions to New Sacramento.  
"Got it. Say...you're twenty-five, right? How come you're a major?"  
"When I started basic training, I was promoted to corporal due to what I did. I had nine years of combat experience, went through OCS at Year Three, and became a Captain in Year Four. In Year Five, I was promoted to Major."  
"I see. Thanks."  
"See ya."  
I left town, and drove off. No time to waste. Next stop, Tombstone Town.  
  
Chapter 11: Malloy, Tony, Corporal, 4356-2342-4532 Ghost  
  
Tombstone Town was one of those out-of-the-way places in the USA that was no longer cared for by anyone. It was called Tombstone Town due to the high number of gunfire-related deaths per day until two law enforcers moved in. The Malloys were the new sheriffs in town. It was a quiet place, but when gunfights happen, they were spectacularly bloody and super-violent.  
At this time, they should be in their shared sheriff's office. I walked in. I made a mental note to draw my revolver instead of pistols if some idiot barges in.  
Only half of the sheriff's department was here. That half happened to be Tony Malloy. He was called 'Ghost' as no one could hear his footsteps.  
"Howdy, Major," he called from his desk, which happened to be in front of the main doors. He was a roguish-looking person who was currently dressed in leather apparel.  
"Howdy. It's 'Jake' now."  
"Okay, Jake."  
"Good. Listen..." I repeated the words that I said to the others.  
"Well...I need to tell my wife that."  
"Okay. When'll she be back?"  
"Soon."  
"Okay."  
"Say, care to take a look at my guns?"  
"Sure."  
He drew both of his revolvers from his customized two-gun rig. And drew two more from the small of his back. In towns and small cities, revolvers were favored over pistols. Revolvers were reliable, easy to aim, and did not need much cleaning. Towns usually do not have any cleaning supplies for weaponry to speak of. Cities had cleaning supplies, so more pistols were found in cities.  
The first two revolvers were Colt King Cobra Ultimates with 4 inch barrels of caliber .357 Magnum. The caliber produces a large muzzle blast and quite a bit of recoil, but Malloy's powerful arms could handle the .357 Mag with one hand. Because they were in front, they were Malloy's first choice. These revolvers were fairly new; Colt had decided to resume production.  
The third revolver was a Ruger Super Redhawk with a 7.5 inch barrel. Due to its longer barrel and attached 3x scope, I guessed that the .44 Magnum revolver was used to shoot at far targets.  
The last was a rarity. It was a Korth Combat revolver in .357 Magnum. Willi Korth's company's revolvers were called the 'Rolls-Royces' of revolvers due to their high quality. The steel the weapon was made of was cold hammered, producing a dense steel structure. A small wheel was also attached to the trigger bar instead of a cam. The whole weapon was machined out of massive steel. The weapon would cost at least $800000 on the legal market. Since it has the shortest barrel, I guessed that it was the back-up gun.  
I looked up.  
"Gee, Tony, you sure you're here to protect and serve? These are real man-killers."  
"Well...the lawbreakers never said they wanted to lay down their guns, so I figured that I have to shoot them with real powerful bullets...look out!" He reached for his Colts.  
I spun around, drawing my S & W revolver at the same time.  
A criminal was at the doorway, with a Smith and Wesson Model 66 revolver in high carry. The revolver normally found in the hands of sport shooters here...but one never knows. I aimed my revolver at the miscreant's face, making sure that he could see the yawning hole that was the muzzle.  
"Do I have five rounds, or do I have six rounds? Doesn't matter, what with this being a Smith and Wesson Model 29 revolver, one of the most powerful handguns in the world, it can blow your head clean off. I've got a question for ya. Do ya feel lucky punk? Well, do ya?"  
"?!" He lowered his revolver at a lightning pace, almost making it. But, 'almost' was never enough.  
Doesn't matter. I pulled the trigger.  
"Guess he did. Too bad he wasn't."  
"...It didn't blow his head clean off. Return it to the manufacturer," Tony said. One can always depend on him for a little black humor.  
"Ha ha. C'mon. Back to our little chat." We were one of the few men who could kill a man without blinking.  
"Who's the stiff?"  
"I dunno. Some sort of idiot hitman."  
"Too bad for him. And his employers."  
"Hey sheriff!" a voice called from the door just as its owner walked in. The voice belonged to a no-name criminal. He evidently didn't care about his colleague who had a massive hole in his head. He didn't care for his life either, since he was about to draw his Colt Python. I proved that theory by shooting a .44 Magnum bullet into his head.  
"C'mon, boys! Let's go!" There were more gunmen outside.  
Tony grabbed his guns. It was time to fight.  
I reloaded. We ran out, guns ready. Tony covered my back while I covered his. I was holding my weapon in the Weaver stance while he chose the two-gun stance that I helped to develop. I needed both hands to control the kick of the .44 Magnum.  
I turned right, and saw a pair of shotgun-wielding criminals waiting to shoot. I aimed and pulled the trigger once, twice, and they fell dead. I turned left, and spotted a rifleman. A shot to the face settled him. All this while, we were racing to my car parked across the street.  
I heard more gunshots from behind as we ran. A bullet smashed into my armor. It pushed me back a little, but I carried on. I aimed right, and sent another .44 Magnum bullet into another outlaw's head.  
We reached my car. It was directly opposite the sheriff's department. We could use it for cover, but first...  
"Ghost! Stay down, but don't lean against my car!"  
"Why?"  
"Booby trap. Lean against it and-"  
There was a loud flash, followed by a crackling sound and the smell of burnt flesh. A criminal had decided to run up to us.  
"That happens!"  
"Got it...get down!"  
I went prone. A .357 Magnum bullet roared over my body towards an unknown target. A scream later, I got up. I deactivated the trap while Ghost provided covering fire from his twin King Cobras. He reloaded, hot smoke rising from his barrels. We all had calm, blank faces, like those of killers who could not care less about who was being killed, so long as the job was done. We were not afraid. Fear is the mind killer, and that leads to death. Dozens of bullets flew nearby, smacking into the bulletproof doors and sides. The area became a cacophony of gunshots, shouted orders, and confusion. The victor makes the least mistakes.  
After deactivating the trap, I turned left. Six more Magnum rounds screamed towards new targets as less bullets pinged against the Hummer. A Tango appeared in front of me. I aimed and fired, and fired again. I reloaded when the bullets pushed the criminal down in a spray of scarlet. Smoke rose from my hot weapon. My ears were ringing slightly, and my eyes had to refocus to the lack of muzzle blasts.  
And then, it was over.  
"Sheriff!" The local citizenry had taken cover when the bullets started flying. A young man had popped out of the window closest to him. He almost earned a bullet for his trouble, if he did not tell the Sheriff that he was there.  
"Yeah?" was his excited reply as he reloaded.  
"It's Ocelot...he's back." Ocelot was a local bandit who got his kicks killing merchants and other innocents after robbing them. Just your garden- variety a bandit.  
"S! Where's he?!"  
"In the Eastern part of town. I heard that he's got his whole gang together."  
"D! Nemesis?"  
"Wait. Let's get more firepower first." We stood up.  
We looked around. There were fifteen dead bodies around us. We inspected the bodies, and recovered 40 .357 Magnum bullets as well as 35 .44 Magnum bullets. We were not using the other calibers the bandits were carrying.  
I opened the Hummer's cargo container.  
"You want the M14 or the AKMS?"  
"The M14." I tossed him the M14 and seven spare magazines. I picked up the AKMS and seven spare magazines.  
"Let's go."  
  
Chapter 12: The Cat And The Ghost  
  
We made our way to the Eastern side of town. The area was composed of wooden huts and several tons of dust. A wide street in the middle was its main feature.  
I checked the AK. It had a folding stock to allow Soviet paratroopers to carry it with ease. It was extremely reliable...but had crude sights, less- than-ideal safety switch, and not-so-great accuracy. Nonetheless, the AK earned the title of the best assault rifle in the world.  
We arrived at the street. There was only one man there. It was not Ocelot, and his hand was on his revolver.  
"Draw," he spoke.  
The only problem was that he had his head blown off by a rifle. It belonged to someone else.  
"Need a hand?" it was Malloy, Sandra, Corporal, 1254-8932-4723 Raven. She was the team sniper. She was a twenty-five-year-old nondescript blonde. She had a smoking Remington M40A1 sniper rifle in her hands. Her custom- built gunbelt had a Smith & Wesson Model 19 revolver, the gun that the gunslinger Bill Jordan (dead on October 4, 1997) designed as his ideal police officer's handgun. Her gunbelt also held eighteen .357 Magnum bullets in addition to the six speedloaders in her pockets.  
"Yes."  
"Yessir!"  
"Let's go." I heard a noise.  
"Maximum efficiency!" we spoke, just before the gunfire started.  
A scofflaw did a side flip from the roof of one of the houses, blazing away with his twin Peacemakers, also known as Colt Single Action Army revolvers. We dove as the .45 Long Colt bullets flew around us.  
A bullet traversed the space next to my right ear as I dived. I heard the sound it made as it whizzed by. I landed on the ground in time to hear a loud roar from behind me. I saw the aforementioned criminal's head snap back, blood and brains pouring from a head wound.  
Ghost was holding the smoking gun.  
"Let's end this, Sheriff!" Ocelot.  
The call came from the nearby saloon whose roof served as the former station of the dead gunman. I guessed wrong. The saloon was a run-down old place that deserved to be wrecked.  
A burst of muted gunfire came from the saloon windows. The air became awash with bullets. I could make out the bullets' make. They were 7.62 Russian. We dove down again.  
I pointed at Ghost, and pointed at the left window. I attracted Raven's attention, and pointed at the right.  
The operatives complied. I crawled towards the left side of the saloon's double doorways. Within seconds, we were ready. The gunfire stopped.  
"Check if they're dead."  
"NOW!"  
We stood up. Ghost started pouring 7.62 NATO bullets into the saloon while Raven fired off several rounds from her revolver at the occupants. From Ghost's behavior, I knew that there were no noncombatants.  
I stepped into the room, and sidestepped to the right, sweeping the area. Raven moved in while Ghost covered us from the outside.  
The room was wrecked. The tables had been overturned and/or shattered by the force of the bullets. There were six corpses in the room, all gripping some sort of weapon. Ghost moved into the room.  
The entrance was in front of a staircase, with twenty feet of distance. Just as Ghost went in, a figure clad in a leather coat and Stetson hat appeared. He had green, cold eyes and a scar across his face. His hair was long and dark. His face was stretched into a grin. His right hand held his preferred weapon: a Colt Single Action Army revolver in .44- 40.  
It was Ocelot.  
"OCELOT!" Ghost yelled. The two of them had a blood feud against each other since the time when Ocelot killed his brother and Ghost eliminated his previous gang.  
"About time you showed up. Let's finish it here!"  
He raised his revolver with his right hand and went into a classic one-hand shooting stance.  
Ghost raised his M14 while we aimed.  
There were two abnormally loud, yet muted, gunshots, one from Ocelot and one from Ghost.  
  
"D!" Ghost said. He saw the massive .44-40 bullet fly past his left ear. Ocelot had missed by a freak chance. Ocelot was reputed to have fired one thousand shots, and every bullet hit its mark, be it man or glass bottle.  
Ocelot didn't say anything. It was hard to talk when one had a missing lower jaw.  
I aimed and fired a burst of three shots into Ocelot's head. I heard the passage of the bullets and the movement of the bolt as clearly as the tinkling of the casings as they hit the ground.  
Ocelot's head exploded, spraying blood, brains, and bone onto the wooden staircase. He fell forward and collapsed ever so slowly into a heap. Timothy 'Ocelot' Fouke was finally dead.  
"Stand down."  
And then, it was over.  
There was a pregnant pause. The ringing in our ears became less apparent and our eyes refocused.  
"...You sure it's him? He missed."  
Everybody started laughing.  
  
After some time, I repeated my proposition. Both husband and wife agreed. I left, and made my way back to the city of evil. 


	4. Part Four: Endgame

Author's note: Sorry it took so long...unforeseen circumstances...Oh, and I had to change a couple of things.  
  
Chapter 13: Preparations  
  
"Gentlemen, lady, this is the first time we're meeting together to do something that's just, and right without being told to do so. This may also be the last time we will ever go in a combat situation as one group.  
"We have gathered here today to do mankind a favor by removing the scourge that is organized crime in this city. I'd like to thank all of you for making the personal sacrifice to attend this.  
"What we are doing is illegal, no matter how morally right it is. I can promise you, though, that all of you will never regret this decision.  
"There. So much for the pep talk. Let's get to work."  
We were in the hotel, specifically in my room, which was also the command post in the campaign against organized crime. It had been four days since the summons, and everybody had arrived.  
"First, we go after Puzo. He works out of 'Lucky Numbers'. It's..." After telling them to location, we started to plan.  
"...Okay? Let's go!"  
Foster began booby-trapping every room we occupied with improvised traps, usually consisting of a pair of grenades and some string. Upon his arrival in New Sacramento, he repaired the Auto-doc for the fun of it. When it comes to technical and pre-war stuff, he was the king. He was carrying his Colt Mexican style: in the waistband without a holster. Like everybody else, he brought along his arsenal for the job. He was bringing along a recently purchased and manufactured Thompson Model 1928A1 submachine gun (a. k. a. 'Tommy gun') for the battle. This particular weapon was fitted with a 50-round drum magazine, also of recent manufacture. He kept the SMG in a violin case (!). How he managed to conceal the magazine was beyond me.  
O'Sullivan prepared his medical supplies, and weaponry. He was bringing along his favorite Wildey Magnum pistol. It was a target and silhouette pistol chambered in .45 Winchester Magnum, and popularized in the movie 'Death Wish III'. His Mac-10 SMG was coming along for the ride. While the Ingram was notoriously inaccurate at long ranges, it really didn't matter in the close environs of the casino.  
Steele was carrying his Desert Eagle, chambered for the .357 Magnum round. He sold his PKM and S & W to raise money to buy it and a literal ton of ammunition. He also had removed the buttstock and bipod of his BAR to make it more portable for the ride. I had reason to believe that we needed the heavy .30-03 machine gun for the mission. He was cleaning his guns. According to him, he ran into a sandstorm during the trip and wanted to make absolutely sure that his firearms would work. I let him do that; it serves to build up confidence in the troops since they will trust their weapons as a result. Besides, when I upended his BAR, I saw a large quantity of sand exit the weapon via the barrel, much to my shock and everybody's amusement.  
The male Malloy had brought everything with him, gunbelt and all. His primary weapon was a sawn-off Winchester Model 21 double-barreled shotgun. The twin 27 inch barrels were loaded with 3 inch (2 ¾ inch shells were also accepted) Winchester 00 buckshot shells, but Federal Premium rifled slugs were at hand in case of armor. For some obscure reason, the shotgun was the only one that he would entrust his life to. He was currently attempting to figure out how to hide his shotgun in the most comfortable and inconspicuous manner.  
The female Malloy was armed with her Remington M40A1 sniper rifle. It was essentially a Remington Model 700 varmint rifle that was fitted with a 10x Redfield scope. First used by the United States Marine Corps, it has proven itself time and time again in the battlefields of the 20th and 21st century. Her Model 19 revolver was her backup piece. Because she was sniping at enemies, she didn't have to be heavily armed. She had a solar- powered calculator, and was calculating all sorts of figures. I assumed that she was calculating bullet drop and how much she has to hold off for far shots, and other arcane matters.  
I armed myself with my Para-Ordnance pistols (cleaned extensively to remove every last grain of sand), S & W revolver, and AKMS-47. I didn't have to conceal them. I checked and re-checked the weapons, making triply sure that the weapons' magazines will not fall out (something that had happened to me in a firefight a long time ago).  
We brought eight magazines along (standard full metal jacket to counteract the opposition's possible armor) and two fragmentary grenades per person.  
Soon, we were done. We synchronized watches.  
"All right, let's go!  
  
Chapter 14: First Blood  
  
Lucky Numbers had three sections: the bar, the East Wing, and West Wing. The bar was where alcohol was served and people pretended to laugh at the comedian's 'jokes'. It was also where the slot machines were. The East Wing held the roulette tables. There were three of them, and guarded by only six guards. The West Wing contained the card game tables, again guarded by six guards.  
Tech entered the casino. He headed to the bar, and proceeded to be 'entertained' by the comedian making stupid and humorless jokes.  
Ghost headed for the West wing of the casino. He joined in to mingle with the crowd.  
Doc headed for the East Wing, and promptly won $500 with his first spin. Knowing him, he'll return the money.  
Gunman was waiting in his car for the signal. His BAR was set to full automatic. Firing anything with twenty rounds at full automatic seems incongruous, but...  
Raven was aiming at the windows. As soon as something happens, she opens fire.  
I was set to go. It was 1015 hours. Time to go.  
I arrived a street away from the location by car, and walked over to the casino. I walked in front of the bouncers.  
"You're the f-" a bouncer screamed, before reaching for his Thompson submachine gun.  
I pulled out both pistols, flicked off the safeties, and shot each of them in the face once in one second before sauntering in.  
The bar was filled with drunks, hopefuls, and gangsters trying not to shoot the comedian for some entertainment. Tech was at the left half of the room. All of the enemies had scarred faces, veterans of many a gunfight. Pity.  
"Howdy, boys. I'd like to see your boss," I called to the gangsters. All activity stopped.  
"What the-" a gangster near the stairs next to the bar shouted. He didn't finish as Tech had drawn his Colt and shot him in the brain. He turned and started shooting at the others.  
"Maximum efficiency!"  
I unslung the rifle, and time slowed down. My heartbeat became a prominent background noise. A rush of air accompanied that. The Colt's gunfire sounded subdued somehow. I aimed, and fired off a five-round burst into the nearest gangster, hearing his skull explode. Six heavy-caliber shots reverberated from the East Wing and an equal number of short chattering bursts resounded from the West Wing. The civilians screamed and went prone. The comedian cowered in fear. The barkeep ducked under the table. Good. That way, nobody innocent could be caught in the crossfire unless they stood up.  
I turned, and caught a trio of gangsters in an extended fifteen-round burst. They collapsed in sprays of blood and brain matter. I ran forward and sidestepped to the right when I heard a diffused burst of gunfire and saw a threat with his weapon raised, causing another gangster to miss his burst from a Ruger MP-9. His bullets impacted with a slot machine instead. The machine exploded in a shower of sparks. I dived to the right, spinning about 15 degrees to the left, and fired off a three-round burst that turned his face to mush. Blood sprayed out for several feet. I got up, and heard the Gold Cup bark twice. The barkeep received two 230-grain .45 Automatic Colt Pistol bullets to the chest when he came up with a Winchester Model 12 shotgun. He fell, dead before he hit the ground. The comedian produced a zip gun from somewhere. The shell casings from the Colt littered the ground, tinking away on impact. I blew his head off before reloading. I aimed at the staircase. The others did too.  
"I'm coming from behind!" Gunman yelled. I heard his footfalls, and guessed that he was sidestepping to the right.  
"Coming from behind!" Ghost called, before running to the left.  
"I'm coming from your six! Anybody down?" Doc called, Ingram Mac-10 ready to go. 'Anybody' referred to the people on our side, of course.  
"No! Go!" We moved along the room, back to the wall.  
Several gangsters with imitation Uzis ran down the stairs.  
"What the f happened?" The lead man called.  
Gunman replied by pulling the trigger. He was point shooting, not using the sights to aim but rather pointing the weapon at the targets and pulling the trigger, since, in his words, he had no time to aim. I aim, and I don't suffer any loss in time taken to acquire a target.  
The deafening gunfire was not enough to damage our hearing, at least, while we were still hyped up. The bullet casings flew out of the gun, and it clicked on empty after too short a time.  
The gangsters were torn apart by the bullets. One had an exploded head. Another had his right arm blown away before a .30-06 bullet entered his heart. Yet another turned, and had his chest caved in by three bullets moving at 2787 feet per second. A fourth man's grenade was struck by a freak chance, and it blew up. His chest became a yawning hole and shrapnel did the rest. The last man was hit by a faceful of shrapnel before the last .30-06 bullets ventilated his head. Blood, brain matter, bone fragments, and other body fluids were transferred to the left wall, soon mixing with wood fragments and other detritus. Gunman reloaded.  
"Clear!"  
We rushed up the stairs.  
Superior reactions saved our lives. I caught sight of a machine gun aimed straight at us from the end of a corridor. The machine gun fired, its sound a liquid rip. S!  
"MAXIM!" I dived backwards, catching sight of the 7.92x57 mm Mauser rounds fly by a few inches in front of my face and feeling the superheated air of their passage. I heard the bullets' passage through the air as the latter expanded and contracted with the coming and passing of heat. The others turned and ran. I collapsed on top of Tech. Gunman was aiming up to cover us as we got up and headed for safety.  
At the bottom, I started to plan.  
"All right. Raven can't shoot him, so we'll have to make do. Gunman, I want you to shoot into the second floor. The .30-06 bullets will chew through the brick like a hot knife through butter. Fire two full mags, but limit collateral damage. Ghost, share some space with Doc. Stay low and ascend the staircase. When you're near the top, blind fire your mags into the corridor. Reload, and secure the corridor. Execute on my mark Okay?"  
"Why don't we just toss a pair of grenades?"  
"...Look carefully. The doors are made of wood. I don't think they're able to stop grenade shrapnel, and we didn't bring any flash-bangs. The wood would probably be able to stop or slow down the pellets and bullets."  
"All right."  
"Yessir!"  
"Crystal clear."  
"Get into position. Let's do it!"  
Gunman ran over to the machine gunner's bottom, and angled up. The other operatives made their way up the stairs. The civilians started to run out.  
"ATTENTION! YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO VACATE THE PREMISES! THIS WARNING WILL NOT BE REPEATED!" I shouted.  
We counted to ten. A civilian ran down at the last second. We let her pass.  
"Execute!"  
Gunman started firing into the upper level. The bullets blew through the brick, causing dust to float down as the hole the bullets made expanded. The roar of the BAR stopped, and he reloaded in a second. He fired another long burst. When it went click, I heard the men upstairs blind fire.  
Blind fire means exposing one's weapon out of cover and shooting without seeing the weapon, sights, or enemy. It was generally used as a last-ditch resort to keep the opposition's head(s) down while everybody else ran for cover or to a better position.  
The shotgun roared twice and the Ingrams chattered until they were empty. The men reloaded and got up after a long string of pops and explosions had ended.  
We headed up, and looked at what destruction we had wrought.  
"Clear!"  
The machine gunner had an uncountable number of holes in his gut, chest, head, and all over his torso. His face was a bleeding, broken mess that was so covered with blood and brain matter that its features were unrecognizable. The arms were broken by any number of impacts. He was sitting in a growing pool of scarlet. Two ragged holes near him defined the location where Gunman fired. His corpse fulfilled the definition of 'blown into chunks of flesh and blood.'  
The Maxim Maschinengewehr '08 of WWI vintage didn't survive either. The bullets and pellets had broken off hundreds of pieces from the weapon, and the 7.92x57 mm Mauser ammunition had cooked off, destroying the ammunition box and a couple of vital parts. The box containing the water coolant had been shredded into a useless can of metal. An arm, detached from its owner, was still gripping one of the machinegun's grip, finger curled around the trigger.  
"Ouch," Ghost observed.  
There were three rooms in the corridor, six in all. I kicked the door next to me, causing it to fly in. There was nobody inside. I ran in, and searched the room using the one-man clearing method.  
"Clear!"  
Ghost kicked open another door. His shotgun roared once.  
"Clear!"  
Gunman replaced his BAR for his Desert Eagle. He kicked the second door in my row open.  
"Clear! Get out of here!" A pair of women, presumably prostitutes, ran out and away.  
Doc kicked in the second door in his row, and fired a long burst into the room.  
"Clear!"  
Tech kicked in the third door on the left. He had, by then, switched to his Tommy gun. . "Clear! Ma'am, run away right now!" The prostitute within complied.  
The last door opened.  
It was Puzo. He had high cheekbones and a scar running across the length of his face. He had a gun to a prostitute's head, and was holding her in the gun-choke position.  
S!  
"Please don't kill me, sirs! Please don't!"  
I slung my rifle and drew one Para-Ordnance P14-45, and went to the Weaver firing position.  
"Don't come any closer, or I swear I'll kill this b!"  
Tech raised his Thompson and discharged a single round at the hostage taker in one fluid motion.  
The last gunshot echoed throughout the corridor, and the bullet entered in between his eyes, blowing out through the back of his head. This was the classic brain shot. His head snapped back, and everything became limp. Blood, brains, and bone exited his head in a spray and decorated the wall. He dropped the Beretta he was holding and fell forward, releasing the hostage. The prostitute was crying and praising us for everything that we did.  
The loudest sound of all was the shell casing colliding with the floor.  
Gunman reached for his radio.  
"Raven, any sign of the cops?"  
"I can hear their sirens from here. You boys get outta there fast."  
"All right. Gentlemen, let's get out of here. Mission complete."  
We ran out of the casino and ran into our vehicles. We were gone by the time the police arrived. We stood down.  
  
Chapter 15: A Message  
  
The total body count was 34. The Mafia had lost their best men. The remainder of the Mafia abandoned their life of crime. We could not recover anything from the scene of the crime thanks to the NSPD.  
The operators were cleaning their weapons and reloading their arms. We knew that the Yakuza would try a power grab in Mafia territory, and would order all of its personnel to return to its HQ before issuing each lieutenant his orders.  
One they were ready, I started my briefing.  
"We are going after Ishii. There are two objectives: kill Ishii and destroy the Yakuza's hideout. To achieve this..."  
"Everybody knows? Good. Let's go." I ended after the planning and whatever was over. Time was paramount. At this time, the Yakuza boss would be giving tonight's orders to the small fish, according to a snitch who used to be Yakuza.  
Ghost had the same weapon complement from last time. It turned out that these were all the arms he had.  
Gunman had no need for a primary weapon is his role. His Desert Eagle served as his pistol, and his backup weapon was his S & W M29 revolver.  
Raven was bringing her AKMS-47 to complement her Smith and Wesson Model 19 revolver. She had hung up her rifle since there were no suitable sniping/observation points near the area. She also brought a backup gun: a Colt King Cobra Ultimate with a 4-inch barrel.  
Tech was checking the circuitry of the radios. He was bringing ten packs of explosives and detonators as his actual weapons. His Colt was the only weapon he had.  
Doc was packing his plethora of medical supplies into his combat jacket. He brought a Remington 870 shotgun as his entry shotgun. The Remington was one of the best and most reliable shotguns of the 20th and 21st century, having seen widespread use in the police forces of the United States. His pistol went into his holster.  
I was armed with my twin P14-45s, along with my M14.  
We brought eight magazines per weapon, and eight grenades of varying descriptions, for this job.  
When everybody was done, we drove off.  
  
Ishii lived in a relatively modern house. It was a four-storey stone mansion that had a courtyard patrolled by armed guards. The Yakuza, from my experience, were smarter than the Mafia, but more often than not, they lost due to their lack of firepower.  
There was only one entrance/exit to the area, and that was guarded by a guard in what can be called a bunker...and was one.  
It was 1900 hours, and the sun was in the enemy's eyes. Time to hunt.  
I was driving Gunman's Toyota Multi-Purpose Truck, which happened to be fitted with a M2HB heavy machine gun, which Gunman received in exchange for his PKM. Steele was the operator, of course.  
The Malloys were behind Gunman, ready to strike. There was enough space for all of them to sit comfortably. Doc was directly behind them.  
Foster was at the passenger side window, Colt match pistol in hand.  
"What the h?"  
Ishii's residence was aflame, or what was left of it. The whole structure appeared to have been exploded from the inside, judging by the dispersion of debris. The upper half had been blown off, and the stump that was the lower half was not exactly intact.  
An eight-man team ran out, armed with an assortment of weapons, but the dominant one appeared to be the Israeli Military Industry Uzi, no longer in production as of the close of the 20th century.  
All of them had yellow skin, so the team had to be Triad, unless the Yakuza decided to kill their own.  
"Engage target! They're Triad!" I screamed.  
Gunman didn't need another word. He aimed, and pulled the trigger, firing a burst of .50 ball at the targets, all of which collapsed into broken, bloody heaps. I checked my pistols and made sure the safeties were on. Something caught Foster's eye.  
"9 o'clock! Triad gunmen!" Foster called, before turning and leaning out of the window to engage targets with his pistol.  
"6 o'clock! Triad gunmen!" Ghost called. I heard loud .357 blasts a second later from both my back and the passenger's side.  
"3 o'clock! Technical! M60!" Gunman called, before turning and unleashing a hail of .50 bullets. A 'technical' was a pickup fitted with a machine gun and used as an improvised fire support vehicle, like the one I was driving.  
S! Looks like they had mounted a successful attack and were pulling out when we came in. Coming in last means going out first. Alive, of course.  
"I'm going over to the 6 o'clock side and flank them from the rear! Brace yourselves! Gunman! Engage the technical! Everybody else, prepare for a drive-by on the nearest group!"  
I accelerated, and spun the wheel to the left with my right hand while drawing my pistol with my left. The vehicle's wheels bit into the ground and gripped very well, allowing a tight turn, albeit with a horrible screeching sound that accompanied burning rubber, causing the vehicle's occupants to lurch violently to one side. Bullets ricocheted off the bulletproof doors when the Triad soldiers returned fire.  
I flicked the safety catch off and focused on four things: the vehicle's direction, the speed of the truck, the direction of the pistol, and the location of the gunmen. The trick was to train one's peripheral vision for a greater aperture and to know which of the four aspects to devote the most attention to at any one time.  
First, it was the truck's direction. I kept my eyes on the road as the truck changed direction, accelerating forward as it did so. It shot forward when I stopped turning, leaving a trail of rubber in its wake. Tech leaned out and started firing his Colt at something.  
Then, the gunmen's position was the priority. I ascertained their position.  
Third was the pistol. I aligned the P-O at the gunmen. We were closing in on them, so there was not much time to aim. I started pulling the trigger several times, seeing at least one gunman's head snap back in a cloud of flying blood while pointing it in the general direction of the gunmen as I did so until I overshot them. Along the way, I heard a shotgun boom along with automatic weapon fire.  
Next was the vehicle's speed. I mashed the brake, spun to the right and leaned out of the vehicle when it stopped. Gunman let loose a barrage of .50 BMG fire, which sounded so loud that I could hear it from inside the vehicle. I did not have to know about the other operatives' hearing.  
"Triad gunmen down and dead!" Gunman called.  
I accelerated again, shooting forward past a row of shophouses, essentially shops whose second and/or third floors were the owners' residence.  
"Hang on! I'm gonna swing hard to the left!" I screamed, just as we reached a bend.  
I spun the wheel violently with my left hand-  
-And ran into a wall of .308 Winchester bullets. Most of the burst fell short but-  
"F!" Tech screamed as three bullets smashed through the windscreen, spraying glass around and shattering his left shoulder. Gunman didn't have to be told to lie down suppressing fire while I spun around and drove off. I heard the other operatives return fire.  
The other group of Triad gunmen had appeared in front of us, and brought their Uzis up, firing wildly as they did so. Gunman responded with a burst that took down at least three of them in a spray of gore.  
I carried on driving to the middle of the road, and spun to the left to corner a bend, before stopping in the middle of the road.  
"Now, we wait for them to come. Foster, how's the shoulder?"  
"Fing hurts like all fing hell," he whispered.  
"Doc!" I called.  
"Yes?"  
"Tech's down. Looks like he caught three .308 Winchester bullets in the left shoulder. Get Ghost to replace him."  
The doctor leapt off the back of the vehicle and headed over to us, bag in tow. He opened the door, dragged him out, and Ghost jumped in soon after, Colt revolvers in hand, oblivious to Foster's blood. I drew my pistols and slipped the safeties off.  
"INCOMING!" Gunman screamed just as the technical came into view. I raised my pistols, Ghost aimed his Magnum, and Gunman brought the HMG to bear.  
"Maximum efficiency..." we whispered, slowing time down.  
"FIRE!" I screamed, pulling the triggers as I did so. Somehow, it sounded like I had shouted from a mile away.  
The reports of the Colts and Para-Ordnance pistols seem to drown everything out in a deafening roar, before becoming muted and distant. The hot brass casings landed on my arms, but I felt no pain. The sound became a drone as I focused solely on the pistols and the truck. Gunman brought his Browning into play, and Raven fired after that.  
The .357 Magnum bullets arrived first, smashing the glass into a thousand fragments, and a couple curved slightly and smashed the driver in the chest. Gunman's massive .50 BMG tore into the interior, ripping the driver up, and destroyed the machinegun. My .45 ACP bullets did nothing more than to further mutilate the corpse. Raven's single round blew the gunner's face off.  
The Triad foot soldiers arrived just in time to see the destruction of their fire support. All of them were clutching some sort of weapon, mostly AK-47s. Ghost reloaded while I poured gunfire into the approaching mass.  
Once more, I heard the brass collide against the pickup's interior as the slide jacked back and forth, the recoil nearly nonexistent. The jacketed hollow point bullets flew unimpeded, crossing the distance to their targets within a second and blew into their targets, letting a lot of air in and a lot of blood out as they expanded and exploded out the other side. Five Triad gunmen collapsed. Raven fired another shot that ventilated the head of a person who appeared to be the leader, throwing the gunmen into further confusion.  
Ghost brought his revolvers up, and started pulling the revolvers' triggers straight back again and again, shifting fire as the targets died by fire. The Browning unleashed another burst of .50 BMG, shredding the rest into ribbons of flesh and blood.  
And then, it was over.  
We drove off.  
  
Chapter 16: The Informant  
  
"What do you think?" I asked of Doc.  
"Looks worse than it looks. The bullets just passed through flesh without touching any bones or nerves. I've administered a couple of stimpaks. Should be okay by tomorrow." The drive back was quiet. We did not stop except to purchase more medical supplies and ammunition.  
Once back at our base of operations, Jaime handed me a message. I read it while the others prepared themselves.  
'Little California, 0900, tomorrow. Kojima.'  
Akira Kojima was one of my snitches, formerly Triad. Apparently, he had something new to say. He was the one who gave me the information on Ishii's residence, among other things.  
I walked over to the people.  
"Great work today. I'll be meeting a snitch at 0900 tomorrow. Ghost, you're in charge while I'm out. That is all. Carry on."  
Ghost smiled a little.  
The rest of the day was spent reloading magazines, going through my notes, rezeroing weaponry, the usual.  
  
I left the hotel at 0730 hours packing my usual attire, pistols, my wallet, and katana, which had yet to see use in my hands. Once upon a time, I had been trained in its use, and the expert training I received eight years ago seemed to come back to me.  
I drove off, and arrived at the scene ten minutes early.  
The restaurant was another mom-and-pop store that made its money from selling relatively edible food of some quality to the local inhabitants, along with the obligatory alcohol that seemed to be part of the drinks list in every restaurant I've been to. I ordered plain water instead.  
There were four tables in the main area, and two more next to each of the full-length glass windows that flanked the doors. There were four people having their breakfast here, eating something that looked like bread and some sort of filling that I could only hazard a guess at. I've never seen any wheat crops around here, or any type of farm, for that matter.  
After ten minutes of doing nothing, a middle-aged man dressed in casual attire walked in. I had only seen his face once, but I knew that it was Kojima.  
He walked over to my table, and sat down without being told to do so. Our table was set in a corner, the better to see who was eavesdropping on you.  
"Congratulations for eliminating Ishii. His death liberated the Japanese community," Kojima said.  
"I didn't kill him. The Triads did."  
"Hmmph. The fools thought that Ishii hired you to kill off the gangs, starting with the Mafia."  
"I see. Why did you join the Yakuza?"  
"Mr. Smith...I did that to repay a debt of honor. I left when I realized what they were really doing," he added, just to avoid the next question. I didn't want to know about the 'debt of honor' he referred to. It was little more than a phrase laced with multiple connotations in this world.  
"By the way, Ishii isn't a proper Japanese surname. It stands for 'captain'. Apparently, his father was a captain in the Yakuza before being slain, and Makoto Tanaka decided to change his name to honor his father...but that is of no concern now. Danny Yong is leaving the city," he continued.  
"When?"  
His reply was cut off by the glass exploding inwards and the chatter of Uzis. The patrons dove to the floor, along with the staff.  
"STAY DOWN!"  
Four Triad gunmen came in through the windows just as I stood up. They brought their weapons to bear on us.  
"Maximum efficiency," I whispered, unsheathing the blade as I did so. I managed to bring it up in time.  
They emptied their weapons in a single long burst, sending streams of ammunition towards me. Maneuvering the blade, I deflected each nine- millimeter bullet as it arrived, sometimes in waves of two, three, or more. I heard the clink of metal on metal as the laser-honed blade met each bullet before ricocheting it towards its final destination, usually the floor or the walls.  
The Triad gunmen slowly reached for spare ammunition as I rushed towards them, sword in the two-handed style I was trained to use.  
I met the first one, and lunged forward, causing an inch-long hole in his abdomen before I tore the blade out to the right, causing his guts to spill out. He collapsed screaming in agony.  
Rushing forward, I met the second one, who had enough time to bring the machine pistol up to block my downward slash.  
Contrary to what most people may think, a typical katana slash is caused by a push-pull force: the primary hand pushes outwards, and the secondary pulls inwards. This increases the power of the strike, and causes a clean slash wound that does not waste a single foot-pound of energy. Jagged slashes dissipate energy all over the place.  
The blade met the cheaply stamped metal, and struggled for a second before the cheaper metal gave way to the superior one, allowing the blade to slice the weapon in half before it did the same to the Uzi's wielder. I jumped over the body of a frightened and blood-splattered patron, and hacked downwards with my right hand, catching the third gunman's left hand and loping it off, still gripping the magazine.  
The Triad gunman stared at the stump, which was leaking blood like a hose spewing water. I executed a 360-degree spinning slice, starting low, raising the blade as I turned in mid-air, before bringing it down on the Triad hit man's neck, beheading him. I jumped back just in time to avoid the blood.  
I looked around. The last gunman had tried to flee, and was out on the street. I jumped out of the ruined window on the left, and ran up to him, and jumped up at the last five meters. I raised the sword above my head, and brought it down on his head as I landed, adding momentum, and thus power, to the strike. The gunman was literally sliced in half, throwing out blood and bone as he lay on the ground. I flicked the sword twice to remove the scarlet mass on it before sheathing it.  
I ran over to Kojima. He was badly shaken, and I had to slap him twice before he could reply coherently.  
"What was your answer?"  
"Tonight, at 1900." He told me Yong's route without being bidden to do so.  
"Thank you." I left the place before the police could arrive. A pair of ambulances had, and I didn't want to show my face there to anyone, especially Deborah. I didn't have the time to retrieve any of the magazines.  
  
Chapter 17: Another Ambush  
  
"So, what d'you think?" I asked.  
We were surrounding a map of the place, with Yong's route marked out in pencil (pre-war).  
"H, I've been through the place while driving in. It's a regular deathtrap, but its pretty much in the middle of nowhere, so Yong might want to take a chance," Gunman replied  
Indeed it was. The unnamed valley was full of ridges in which a sniper team or ambush group might hide. However, it was so secluded that I doubt the locals know about it.  
"Right...Here's how we're going to do it..."  
When we were done, we went through our usual pre-mission routine.  
Tech brought along his AKMS-47, along with his Colt. He was also carrying spare ammunition for Gunman.  
Once upon a time, Gunman had bought (or retrieved, or stole) an M20 Super Bazooka without my knowledge, and I was gratified that he had. The M20 was based on the venerable bazooka of World War II fame, named because it closely resembled a comic instrument. This rocket launcher was incredibly heavy, and its ammunition consisted of 8-pound rockets, so Gunman could only carry four rockets along with his Desert Eagle and ammunition.  
Raven had her M40A1, which she called the 'world's most accurate rifle'. It certainly was, at least in her capable hands. Her revolver went into her holster.  
Ghost had every revolver he had with him, along with his shotgun, which was holstered in his crossdraw holster on his back. I learnt that his King Cobra was a recently manufactured one, even though Colt had discontinued the series sometime in the early 21st century.  
Doc had brought along his rifle, which turned out to be another AKMS- 47. Despite the fact that they were Russian, a large number of them have been found in the continental United States, and was now the new American arm. His Wildey was his backup.  
I brought along my M14 rifle, along with my twin pistols.  
We also brought along eight magazines each, along with four grenades of varying types.  
The plan was to split up into two teams, take the high ground, and lay on an ambush for the Chinese gangsters.  
The only problem was, no plan survives first contact with the enemy.  
We had divided ourselves into two groups: Red and Blue. Tech was Red lead, and I was Blue lead.  
Blue's role was to initiate the ambush. The other team members consisted of Gunman and Doc. When the Chinese are in the middle of the valley, Gunman is to fire two rockets, one at the front vehicle and one at the back, before proceeding to wipe out the rest of the convoy.  
Red was to provide security on the other side of the valley, and provide covering fire should something happen. Ghost and Raven were in my team.  
  
When we arrived, it was 1730 hours. I stared briefly at the cracked desert soil before looking at the slope we had to cover. The wind kicked up a dust cloud, and the ridges on the slope seemed to stir a little.  
"That's some hill, eh?" Ghost muttered.  
"It's not a hill. It's the approach area."  
"Should be a piece of cake."  
"Uh-huh."  
If I had to estimate a guess, the gradient of the slope was 3, i.e. it increases three units of measurement of vertical distance per one unit of horizontal distance. I briefly wondered how Gunman would be able to get up the slope.  
There was no hurry, and no enemy forces had been detected. Nevertheless, we took up a delta formation, i.e. triangle, and traveled cautiously. Raven took the apex, I took the left, and Ghost covered the right flank.  
The point man (woman, in this case) covers the 10 to 2 o'clock position. The right man checks 2 to 6. The left guard scans the 6 to 10 o'clock position. This was done to reduce the possibility of being ambushed.  
We walked forward, weapons at port arms. The desert wind howled through the valley, kicking up yet more dust clouds. The desert scrub swayed in the wind, and some of the bushes were thick enough to conceal a person, almost making me believe a man was inside them.  
A burst of gunfire shattered the peace. It sounded a lot like an Uzi. A longer burst followed as we hit the dirt. I reached for my radio with my left hand and flipped the rifle's safety off with the other.  
"Blue, this is Red Lead. What the h's happened?"  
"Red Lead, Blue Lead. A Triad sentry was taking potshots at a mutated cockroach...wait...Red lead, a buncha - "  
More gunshots followed. They were heavy-caliber shots, definitely not Triad, unless they had taken to carrying machine guns and rifles in the .30 caliber range.  
"All, this is Blue Two. We've been compromised!" Gunman shouted.  
A man appeared in front of us, armed with an Uzi. Raven dropped him with a single shot to the face.  
"GO!"  
Picking ourselves up, we ran forward, and dived for cover behind a ridge just as new Triad soldiers popped up. Gunman peeked around the cover and discharged both barrels from his shotgun, painfully loud enough to temporarily deafen us, before turning back.  
He held up four fingers and pointed to his left. I nodded, and turned around my ridge, rifle in hand.  
I picked out three targets, firing from the hip. I aimed, and fired a single round at the closest target's chest. He went down in a spray of blood just as his comrades tore him up with 9 mm bullets. Switching targets, I fired two shots into the second man's chest, and one into the other's face. I returned to my position.  
"Raven, provide covering fire. Ghost, head to the left ridge. I'll take the right. Pincer. Go!" They nodded.  
A fragmentary grenade landed in front of us with a thud.  
"F!" Ghost screamed as he scooped it up and tossed it back. The grenade barely cleared the ridge before it detonated, sending a spray of shrapnel in all directions. The ridge shielded us, but some screams told us that the shrapnel hit a few Triad men.  
"Maximum efficiency." Time slowed down again. It probably had something to do with adrenaline.  
We stood up at roughly the same time. Raven snapped off a pair of shots from her rifle as Ghost and I ran off.  
From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the bullets' wakes as they sped off towards their targets. After a few more meters, a Triad soldier popped up from behind a bush. I fired a pair of shots into his face, feeling the rifle recoil with each shot. I could hear the cartridge casings fly out of the ejection port. His face exploded into mush as I ran forward.  
A long burst of automatic weapons fire joined the gunfire around us.  
"Red lead, this is Blue lead. We're pinned down behind a ridge by a machine gunner. Think it's an M60."  
Two .308 Winchester shots echoed throughout the valley.  
"Machine gunner and loader is dead. Thanks for the assist." I ran behind a ridge, feeling each footstep. A fly flew past my ears, its buzz somehow sounding louder than the gunshots. Three bullets thudded into the ground behind me. I turned, and saw a Triad gunman. A bunch of stray 9 mm bullets chewed into his side, and some entered his heart before either of us could do anything. I turned back.  
The ridge was chest-high and stable, making it a field-expedient rest. I placed my left hand on the sling attachment of the rifle and curled it into a fist, turning it into a sort of pistol grip as I swung the rifle around. This was the Hawkins field rest, created by the USMC sometime in the 20th century.  
A Triad soldier brought his Uzi up to bear as I leveled the rifle at him. We pulled the triggers at the same time.  
The 9 mm bullet sped past my face, superheating the air. I heard the sound of its passage.  
The 7.62 x 51 mm NATO bullets slammed into his face, blowing it apart. I turned left, and saw a pair of Triad gunmen huddled behind another ridge. Reaching into my pack, I extracted a fragmentary grenade, primed it, counted to two and tossed it at them.  
The grenade landed in front of them. They only had enough time to see it before it exploded in their faces, literally shredding them into bits as the shrapnel passed through them. On the far side of the valley, I saw three Triad gunmen prepare for another assault on Blue, which had taken refuge behind another large ridge. I reloaded the rifle before reaching for my radio.  
"Blue, Red Lead. There's a bunch of Tangos about ten meters in front of you behind the ridge."  
"Acknowledged." There was an explosion at their position six seconds later, throwing them out of position. High Explosive.  
A trio of Triad gunmen warranted my immediate attention when they unleashed a long burst at me, nearly taking my head off. I ducked down and waited for the gunfire to stop. A second later, it did. I stood up, and fired off a five round burst at them.  
Two bullets entered the first man's chest, blowing it inwards. The third round exploded the second man's face. The last two blew the third guy's face open. All of them collapsed into the rapidly spreading pool of blood and brains.  
I got up and saw a machine gunner with an M60 mount his weapon. A few seconds later, the Triad machine gunner's chest exploded outwards in a spray of blood, bone fragments, tissue, and about twelve pieces of shot. His collapse revealed Ghost reloading his shotgun.  
A bullet whistled past my left ear. I swiveled again, and double- tapped another Triad gunman's face, exploding it into several fragmented pieces.  
Raven had stayed put, and was now reloading. Ghost had reached the top of his slope, and pulled out a long-barreled revolver. He went into his preferred isosceles shooting stance, and discharged a single round before reaching for his radio.  
"Red Lead, Red Two. I can only see dead people. What about your end?"  
I scanned around. A 'corpse' moved towards his weapon. I closed my left eye, peered through the rear aperture, focused on the front sight, aligned it with the target's head, and squeezed the trigger. The bullet entered his left temple and exploded into the brain, converting it to mush before exiting through the other side. The gunfire died down.  
"I think they're all dead. Red Three?"  
"Red Lead, nothing on my end. Place appears to be clean." So much for a pincer attack.  
"Okay. Stand down and prepare ambush positions."  
"Red Lead, this is Blue Lead. Area's clear, and the convoy's here."  
"Okay. Everyone, get into position."  
"Uh, Red Lead, there appears to be six people down on the valley. They're armed with...oh fu- "  
An electronic whine filled the air. I ran up the slope and peered down. Six men armed with some sort of rifles were firing into the four-car convoy. Except that they were not firing bullets. They were firing lasers.  
"I got them in my sights. Looks like they're armed with M30 Sunbeam Gatling Lasers," Ghosts said.  
Designed by General Electric, the M30 was a prototype, but somehow, it entered the Army's service before the nuclear holocaust, hence it's designation 'M30' instead of 'XM-30'. It was a six-barreled weapon that feeds off a thirty round clip. Each barrel fires a total of five times before the clip is depleted, which takes thirty seconds due to its slow rate of fire. It was really meant for sustained-fire roles, hence its slow firing rate.  
"Hey, wait...there're two of 'em with YK-32Bs."  
The Yuma Flats Energy Consortium, a company that used to be in what was formerly called Arizona, designed the rifle. The YK-32B was called a pulse rifle simply because it fires electromagnetic pulses. It had two modes: EMP and surge. EMP nullifies electronic gear, and surge fires a pulse so powerful the target vanishes into a flash of light and smoke, never to be seen again, since it could displace the molecular structure of a body.  
We had fired both kinds of weapons before, and they were extremely deadly in skilled hands. Unfortunately, only Gunman had the brute strength to carry the massive M30 and associated ammunition all day long. Even I can't carry it for longer than four hours.  
The lasers appeared to be a tight beam, although they were really separate pulses of energy. The four beams sliced through the cars like a hot knife through butter. The men walked forward, inspecting the damage done.  
"Red Three, Red Two, Red Lead. Can you take them out from here?"  
"Yes," Red Three responded  
"I can," Ghost replied.  
They went over to my spot, which happened to be the best sniping position. I covered my ears.  
"So...who fires first?" Ghost asked.  
"After you," Raven replied.  
Gunman cocked his Ruger, and fired a shot. Raven fired another one and worked the bolt. Ghost cocked the revolver. Raven fired another shot. Ghost fired once, cocked the Ruger, and fired again. Raven took the last one.  
"They're all down and dead," Raven informed me.  
"Okay. People, head down into the valley and recover the energy weapons."  
A few hours later, we were at the blood-splattered mess that used to be the six gunmen. Two of them had been shot through the head. The other four were shot in the heart. The resulting damage equaled a large pool of blood, bone, brains, and tissue that was rapidly spreading.  
We inspected their bodies, and came up with twelve microfusion cells, which were essentially miniature nuclear power plants, and one Glock 68 per body.  
After recovering the cells, we left the area. There were no survivors from the convoy. Before we left, I recovered some more Uzi ammunition.  
  
Chapter 18: Caspian  
  
"The time has come to end this. I don't like long speeches. Let's just get it over with," I said, once we were in the safehouse.  
After planning, we were ready to end this mob war.  
I brought my twin pistols, the pulse rifle, and associated ammunition. After some consideration, I took my Glock 68.  
Tech had his AKMS-47 and Colt, having sworn never to trust his life to high-tech energy weapons.  
Ghost was unlike him. He had brought along the Glock 68, and the other pulse rifle.  
Raven had her sniper rifle, and Glock 68 for backup.  
Gunman had one of the M30s with him, and the Glock 68.  
Doc had every medical-related item we had on him, and as such was so encumbered that he could only carry a Glock 68 and some ammunition for it.  
  
Raven was to deploy in the attic of the house across the Caspian. From there, she had a clear field of fire into the Caspian and everything outside on the street. It was sunset, and the sun would be in the guards' eyes, while they were silhouetted against the background.  
The rest of us were to toss in a flash-bang into the area, wipe out the hostiles, and repeat for the rooms above it. Easy enough.  
"...Nemesis, this is Raven. The guards have body armor. Metal Mk II."  
"D..."  
'Normal' ammunition up to .45 ACP could be stopped or at least drastically decelerated by the armor, and energy beams could overpenetrate. The pulse rifles' shots would not overpenetrate, but I could not say the same for the plasma bolts the Glocks fire.  
"People, use whatever weapon you see fit, but do NOT shoot any hostiles if your shot will kill any innocent."  
We were on the street, clad in our battle gear, and weapons out.  
We headed to our positions about fifty meters away from the entrance of the bar.  
"Raven, take 'em out."  
I was acknowledged by two shots that echoed along the empty street. The guards' heads snapped back, partially exploded by one .308 Winchester bullet each. By the time they had collapsed, we were next to the doors.  
Tech primed a flash-bang, and tossed it in after counting to two. Three seconds later, it detonated, and we stormed in, careful not to slip on the pools of blood, brains, and bone.  
A flash-bang was meant to blind and disorientate the occupants of a room by exploding the magnesium it contains (creating a blinding white flash) and emitting an extremely loud bang that can permanently deafen anyone should one be exposed to the sound regularly.  
"GET DOWN! GET DOWN!" I screamed, praying that the right people heard it.  
Tech was the first man in. We sidestepped to the left, along with Ghost. Gunman, Doc, and I took the left.  
The Caspian's occupants started screaming while the guards at the started shaking their heads. I raised my rifle, shot the guard closest to me, and he disappeared. The barkeep ducked. Gunman fired a one-second burst at a guard, who was chopped into half. There was no blood; lasers cauterize wounds as quickly as they inflict them.  
There was a corridor directly in front of Ghost. The guards vanished after two shots.  
Tech fired a round from his Colt. The guard he aimed at collapsed, bleeding from a head wound, along with the guard behind him. Their blood and brains splattered onto the wall. The barkeep received a laser beam to the face, courtesy of Gunman. A final guard by the staircase actually managed to raise his pistol before Doc fired, exploding his face.  
There was no sound from the energy weapons, nor were the plasma bolts and lasers visible. Energy weapons typically produced little if any sound, and there was too little dust in the area to highlight their shots.  
"Clear!" Tech called.  
"Gunman, Tech, Doc, cover the staircase. Rest of you, follow me!" I shouted as I raced for the guarded door.  
I turned the knob. It was locked. That was corrected by a double-tap to the door, which disappeared. I stepped in, and saw a wooden table in the middle of the room, whose north side was filled with crates. A solitary natural-gas light illuminated the whole room, which had no other light source. A guard sitting there saw us come in, and opted to surrender. Ghost clubbed him to full unconsciousness as I examined the clipboard on the table.  
It was essentially an inventory list, noting the stocks of alcohol, weapons, and ammunition. The book next to it was meant for an accountant; it was filled with figures that could only mean each day's earnings, plus what each gangster had managed to acquire through illegal means.  
We headed back to the main room. The innocents had fled. I caught Gunman firing upwards at something, and exhausted his clip. He headed for cover while Tech and Doc took over.  
I headed over to him.  
"Some more guards upstairs. We killed at least five. They're putting up a good fight."  
I turned to Tech, who was reloading. The guards had retreated, judging by Doc's lack of shooting.  
"Okay, let's storm the place. Toss up a flash-bang. Gunman, you're up first. Ghost, you're next. I'll follow. Kill all of them. Are you ready?"  
"Yes sir," Gunman replied, having fitted a new microfusion call into place while the old one recharged itself. He flipped the activation switch for the Gatling laser.  
"Affirmative," Tech replied, cocking his weapon.  
"Bring it on!" Ghost screamed, for the guards to hear.  
Tech primed the flash-bang while Doc ran clear. He tossed it when Gunman and Ghost headed into position. When it detonated, Gunman and Ghost ran up. I followed them, stepping over the dead bodies on the steps.  
A guard was directly in front of Gunman at the top. A burst later, He separated into two halves. Ghost turned around at the top and fired a shot before running up, rifle in hand. Following them, I raised my rifle.  
A guard in the corner was transformed into charged tissue when Ghost fired. Gunman chopped a pair of guards next to a wooden door in half. I fired a pulse at another guard in shades. He disappeared.  
It took little more than five seconds.  
"Tech, Doc, clear! Form up and clear the next room!"  
The soldiers lined up next to the door, Tech leading the way. He opened it, and everybody moved in.  
The room was a bedroom-cum-office. A pair of bookshelves was on the east side. A table was directly in front of us. We cleared the room.  
"Clear!"  
There was nobody around. I walked up to the desk. There was a single note on it. I picked it up.  
'Smith, by the time you're reading this, my men and I would have seized Hope Hospital. Enter it alone if you wish to end this war. There is no way to sneak a team in without my knowledge. Lake.'  
  
Chapter 19: Calm Before The Storm  
  
The first thing we did was to rush for Hope Hospital.  
The local police had thrown a cordon around the place with their vehicles. The deputies had their weaponry out and aiming at the building. Passers-by were shooed away. A reporter, or at least somebody wearing what appears to be a media identification tag, was talking to Shillington. The parking lot was occupied by several vehicles, all belonging to Lake.  
We walked up to Shillington.  
"It's your fing fault, motherfer!" he screamed as he turned to me.  
"Oh?"  
"Yes! We've had a real gang war ever since you fers came in! People are fing dropping like flies all over the fing place! And now, this fing thing has to happen!" Tsk, tsk. Temper, temper.  
"Shillington...there already had been a gang war. You were just looking the wrong way. Besides, my men and I did your job for you."  
"Like how?"  
"Ishii, Yong, and Puzo are dead. Lake's next. The gangster bases of power in this city are out of commission. This war I've declared is NOT with New Sacramento. It's with the gangsters, and the gangsters only. I've never killed any innocents, and neither have my men, in your city. We've also prevented innocents from getting killed."  
"So?! This is still your fault!"  
"Why? If you'd done your job-"  
"F off!" he screamed, reaching for his revolver.  
I stepped forward, and delivered a right uppercut that connected with his lower jaw. I followed through with a left hook to the temple. He collapsed, unconscious, and would remain so for the next few hours. The reporter froze in shock.  
"Nothing to see here, go away." The reporter scooted off.  
I turned to Doc.  
"I need your opinion on this."  
"Well...Lake's right. Look at the windows. They're overlooking the whole d place. There's no back door, nor side door...h, Lake's got his men acting as lookouts. I won't be surprised if the enemy has snipers within the place. Now, I'd go for an assault from the top, but they're no Vertibirds (helicopters resembling a cross between an Osprey and a Little Bird helicopter from the late 1990s) or their variants here. NS doesn't even have a SWAT team or a negotiator."  
"Anybody knows why?" It was a rhetorical question.  
  
"Uh-huh. It seems that the only way to deal with it is for you to walk in through the front door."  
"D...d'you know who's inside today?"  
"Yes...d..."  
"What?"  
"There're twelve nurses on duty. There are four nurses on duty per level. There's a receptionist in the lobby. There's a storekeeper who's in charge of the medicines and equipment. Four surgeons are on standby in the ER. There's a Head Nurse responsible for all of the nurses. There're eight cooks in the cafeteria. There're four communications guys in the radio room. There're also three ambulance drivers, and two first responders attached to each ambulance. Total of forty."  
"How many patients?"  
"...Last time I checked, twelve."  
"D...fifty-two potential hostages, at least."  
"Yeah...the stuff has hit the fan."  
"...Is Deborah on duty?"  
"...D." I knew enough. I made a mental note to shoot first and ask questions later.  
"Sir, need a map?"  
"Yeah..." I gave him my PIPBoy. After fiddling with the map function, he managed to draw the map of the hospital, but not to scale.  
"Thank you."  
"Anytime."  
"Okay...the only way to end it is for me to go in, guns blazing. Ghost, Raven, clear the surrounding buildings of any hostiles. Gunman, cover the front with your weapon. If any armed person but me comes out, kill him. Doc, liaise with the cops and make sure they don't interfere. Tech...you're in charge. If I go down, hit place fast and hard. Take no prisoners. Everybody understood?"  
"Yes sir!" they replied.  
"Good. Go."  
I walked to my car, and placed the YK-32B inside the weapons locker. It was far too long and heavy for this mission. Besides, Murphy's Law states that anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and I witnessed a bad battery causing a rifle to explode when fired. The shooter's hands were horribly mangled, and it took him three years to learn how to use what's left of his hands. It was far better to take weaponry you trusted when your life and the lives of others were atstake.  
I extracted the Uzi from my car. The Uzi had been designed by Lieutenant Uziel Gal in the early years of a country known as Israel. Inserting a magazine, I chambered a round, reloaded that magazine, and grabbed eleven more magazines. All of the magazines contained full metal- jacketed rounds. This particular Uzi came with a sling as well as a folding metal stock. I slung it around my neck on the right.  
My shotgun was an Ithaca 37 DS (Deer Slayer). It was based on the Ithaca 37, purpose designed for combat. Its sights had been replaced with a ghost ring to allow maximum accuracy when firing either buckshot or slugs, something that it does very well despite its original less-than-ideal sights. It also had a disconnector that allows the trigger to be held back while the action is being cycled to allow rapid fire. I loaded the shotgun with its maximum complement of nine shells of 00 buckshot, and kept twenty- four such shells in my coat. Twenty-four slugs, meant for breaking up armor, went into another compartment. Another twenty-four flechette rounds filled the rest of the shotgun ammo department. I slung it around my neck to the left.  
Twelve mags for the pistols went into my custom-built ammunition compartments. The Glock went into the weapons locker. I didn't want to entrust my life t something that I was not entirely familiar with. The remaining pockets were filled with grenades and explosives of varying descriptions. I brought along several stimpaks, Super Stimpaks, and one trauma pack. A radio was the last thing I needed. I was carrying my armor only for its pockets; I knew how much protection metal armor would provide against energy weapons: zero.  
"You haven't carried this kind of load for a long time," Gunman observed. He was training his M30 on the hospital door from a sitting position, i.e. he was sitting on a chair and the laser weapon was on a Highwayman that used to belong to Shillington (still out cold). Two microfusion cells were to his left, and his Galil, loaded with a 100-round drum, was on his right, along with two more drums. The BAR was a hundred meters behind him.  
"Yeah...the last time I carried it was in Vault City."  
"Oh? You mean the place that was built on slavery so that descendents of the original Vault people could live in prosperity and everybody else in hardship?"  
"The very same."  
"Didn't the non-Citizens incite a revolution against the Council some months back?"  
"Yup."  
"...And you were in the midst of the fighting?"  
"Yes." I didn't have to tell him whose side I was fighting on.  
"Right...with any luck, this will be the last time you'll carry this much."  
"In the Wastes?" A snort followed. "Don't count on that."  
"Oh yeah...this is the world we're talking about, not Utopia."  
"Sure. See you in a few."  
"You too." I walked off.  
After ensuring that all of my weapons were cocked and locked, I walked into the hospital, ignoring the police. Tech could handle the cops...if they can be called that.  
  
Chapter 20: The Storm  
  
The lobby was deserted. The receptionist's desk had nobody behind it. The furniture, in this case a rectangle of chairs whose dimensions were four by five in front of the desk, was intact. The plants did not move. The pillars around the area betrayed no movement.  
However, I knew that there were people in the lobby, skulking behind the pillars, perhaps inside or behind the plants. Years of combat and training always provide people with a sixth sense, and it was telling me that there was someone behind the pillar in front of me.  
I broke out a frag grenade with my left hand and raised the Uzi, quietly pulled the pin out with my teeth, and removed the spoon with one hand, dumping it into the soil in the nearest potted plant. I held the grenade in my hands for two seconds before rolling it towards the left side of the pillar, and diving for cover behind the one closest to me. I made it just before it blew.  
"Maximum efficiency!" Time sowed down again, as it had done so many times before.  
The sound barely faded when I was peeking around from cover, Uzi raised. A shrapnel-ridden body was on the floor, a spreading pool of blood flowing away from it. A gangster with a Glock 68 sprang up slowly from the row of potted plants in front of me. I aimed, and pulled the trigger, which broke cleanly at four pounds, sending three bullets into his face. It turned into a cloud of red.  
A gangster came in from the left corner of the building, having hidden behind a pillar. After feeding him a three-round burst to the face, I shifted fire and shot his buddy, seeing the passage and wake of the bullets. On instinct, I peered around the right corner of the pillar, and spotted a group of gangsters headed towards me, armed with pulse rifles. Releasing the Uzi, I brought the Ithaca up and fired off a 00 buckshot shell towards them without aiming. The Uzi had barely fallen when the shell was discharged.  
Predictably, it missed, but the shot caused them to dive slowly to the ground, behind a low wall containing plants. Pumping the slide, I discharged three more shells at them before they hit the ground, causing their faces and chests to explode in a spray of gore.  
Bringing my Uzi up, I scanned the corridor ahead. Nothing. The stench of cordite and death hung in the air, irritating my nose as I rose up.  
"Stand down."  
I walked over to the receptionists' desk, and saw a note on it.  
'Smith. Access computer and read document. Lake.'  
Vaulting over the desk, I turned to the computer.  
The computer was a copy of a pre-war model produced by IBM. It was switched on, and a document filled the screen.  
  
'Smith,  
This is Lake. Here're the rules of the game. Do not enter the ER. There's a delicate operation going on, and we wouldn't want to kill innocents, would we? Clear the hospital before you meet me. BRING IT ON!'  
  
D right I will.  
Reloading the weapons, I vaulted over the desk again, and walked over to the corridor.  
The overhead lights brightly lit the corridor, the light leaving no dark places. There was no cover to be had. There were two doors, one to either direction, before the corridor turned to the right. The one on the left led to one of the stairwells, and the other was for the radio room.  
I turned right, Uzi in hand, and heard a creak from behind me. Spinning around, I saw at the stairwell opening. I brought the SMG up in time to catch a four-man team armed with energy weapons.  
"F-" That was the last word anybody there would say.  
I pulled the trigger, and fired a burst into the point man's face, exploding it into chunks of blood, brains, and bone. Turning right, I pumped four rounds into the second man's head. The third Tango , who was halfway between the first and third floors, almost brought his Glock up in time before another burst obliterated his face. The last man dived forward, nearly pulling the trigger when I raked a burst into his face, blowing it apart. I reloaded.  
Extracting a proximity mine, I placed it inside the room at the doorframe before activating it and closing the door. Instinct screamed, and I dove to the right, spinning to the left as I did so, narrowly avoiding a point-blank plasma bolt. A three-round burst to the shooter's face took care of that problem. He fell forward.  
After picking myself up, I extracted a flash-bang, primed it, and tossed it into the room. Upon detonation, I stormed in.  
Stun grenades, commonly called flash-bangs, produce a bright flash, caused by burning magnesium, and a loud bang. This was done to disorientate anybody who hears and/or sees the grenade's detonation. There was a pair of blinded and deafened guards armed with Glocks, along with five similarly blinded and deafened hostages at the far end of the room. Two three-round bursts blew the guards' heads apart, the gore splattering across the radio equipment.  
"Everyone all right?" I called.  
"Yes, yes," a hostage replied.  
"Who're you lot?"  
"The four of us," the hostage pointed to three others," are radio operators. The other's the storekeeper. He's here to relay the terrorists' demands."  
"Okay, follow me."  
Leading the five of them out, we reached the corridor. I aimed at the turn.  
"Okay. Run for the door and don't stop until someone gets you clear. GO!"  
They started running. I reached for the radio with my left hand.  
"Gunman, this is Nemesis. Five hostages running out. Do not shoot. Tell Tech."  
"Roger, Nemesis."  
I reloaded. Flattening myself against the wall, I snuck over to the corner and crouched. I heard footsteps, followed by voices.  
"Over here!" someone screamed. I peeked around the bend, Uzi in my left hand. I spotted four enemies rushing towards me. I fired a three-round burst into the man closest t me, and saw him fall in a spray of blood. The second man raised his weapon, and a burst exploded his face. The third ducked, and rolled across the corridor. I tracked fire, and pumped six rounds into him, blowing out most of his lungs and abdomen. The last had been holding a grenade, and he primed it. I shot him thrice in the head, and the grenade fell, its spoon flying off.  
I returned to my spot, and reloaded. After the explosion, I turned back. The bodies had been shredded; blood covering the walls, floor, and ceiling, along with some vaguely recognizable organ bits. I stepped over them, and continued.  
The room at the end of the corridor was the ER. The operating light was on. Halfway between the ER and me was a bend to the right. To my left was the medicine storage room. Any errant grenade blast would wipe out any nearby medication, so I opened it, Uzi leading the way.  
The medical storage room was essentially a miniature warehouse. A desk was to the left of the door, and metal shelves containing medicines were arrayed across the room.  
"Over -" Spinning left, I spotted a gangster screaming and raising his pistol. A burst to the face sprayed its contents onto the wall.  
"Maximum efficiency!" Time slowed down again, I had already gotten used to that.  
I stormed forward, seeing nobody. I reached the first line of shelves before turning left, spotting a man with an M30. I brought the SMG up, and fired a three round burst into his face, seeing the bolt race back and forth, spewing cartridge casings. His blood and brains were scattered across the floor in a crimson spray.  
Running forward, I reached the second line of shelves and turned left. No one.  
I sprinted to the third and final line of shelves, and turned left. I spotted a gangster running ahead. Bringing the SMG up, I focused on the front sight, aligned it with his head, and pulled the trigger. The bullet ate up the distance between itself and the target, entering into the gangster's temple and ripping out the other side, blood, brains, and bone in its wake. "Stand down." Time returned to normal as I reloaded. There was a frightened nurse at the corner. I approached here.  
"Relax, miss. I'm here to get you out. Who are you?"  
"Head Nurse Jane Trego."  
"Okay...where are the other nurses on duty in this floor?"  
"In the ER."  
"Okay...what happened?"  
"I don't know. I was here, helping the storekeeper check inventory when they came in."  
"Okay...he's safe. Get out of here now." She ran out. I reached for my radio.  
"Gunman, this is Nemesis. One more coming out."  
"Roger. The first batch have arrived and are in custody."  
Upon reaching the bend, I saw a pair of elevators and a stairwell, along with another corridor. I walked along the corridor, Uzi at the ready, stopping at a turn. Flattening myself against the wall, I peeked around, and saw nothing. I carried on. There were two doors. One led to the ER. The other was connected to the ambulance bay.  
I primed a flash-bang, and kicked the door open before tossing it in. I activated my ability just before the grenade detonated.  
Bringing the Uzi up, I kicked the door open, and scanned the bay. It appeared to be an underground parking garage, with three ambulances ready to go. There were four gangsters here watching the hostages, and all of them were blinded and deafened. I aimed the Uzi, and fired a single round at the first target. The bullet exploded out the back of his head, carrying blood, brains, and bone with it, when I swung around and targeted the second gangster. He spun around, and received three bullets to the head, scattering bone, brains, and blood around the area.  
The third reached for a hostage, and I fired six 9 mm bullets into him. Most of them were stopped by the armor, but one entered through his left armpit, and into his heart. A single round to the head finished that. The last one had brought his M30 up when I dived to the left, and pumped a bullet into his face. I hit the ground, and stood up. The dead man was falling ever so slowly, and in a boneless manner, like a puppet whose strings were cut. The contents of his head were emptied onto the floor in a crimson-gray spray.  
Running over to the hostages, I addressed the nearest one.  
"I'm here to rescue you! Follow me to the lobby and run out through the front door and don't turn back! Go!"  
The hostages followed me to the lobby. On my urging, they ran out of the door as I reached for my radio.  
"Gunman, Nemesis. Six hostages, running out of front door."  
"Roger that, I have visual on them."  
"Who's covering the ambulance bay?"  
"Nemesis, Tech. I've eyes on the exit. If anybody come out, I'll tell you."  
"Roger. Out."  
I walked to the stairs. An announcement came on.  
"Smith, this is Lake. Let me tell you a story.  
"After Time Zero, the world ceased. Almost no human activity could carry on. The aboveground animals were blown into radioactive dust, radiated so severely until they died, or were mutated.  
"When mankind could get back on its feet, the world was a different place. The FEV virus contaminated all of America but one place. Every man, woman, and child on the mainland carried a mutant gene, caused by the virus, and some transformed into mutants themselves.  
"The mutants were led by the Master, and nearly wiped us out. After the Master's death, the mutants still posed a threat, albeit in lesser numbers. The Enclave has only PURE people, untouched by the virus! None of us had been exposed to the virus, and we vowed to cleanse America!  
"I'll carry on after you do the next floor."  
D...Lake was Enclave? Wasn't its oilrig destroyed in a nuclear explosion off the East Coast? And besides, there weren't any survivors save for an adventurer, his party, and the civilians he rescued...  
I walked over to the stairwell. After placing my foot on the first step, there was an explosion, shaking the building like a seizure. I drew my pistols. They would be more effective in this cramped area.  
"What the f was that?" someone screamed. Probably some genius setting off the proximity mine.  
"I don't know! Let's go!" another called.  
"Maximum efficiency," I whispered.  
Time slowed down. I heard my heartbeat, and my breathing became abnormally loud. I climbed up half of the staircase and turned right, spotting a gangster armed with a Glock 68. I moved my right pistol up to meet his face, and pulled the trigger. It broke immediately. The bullet left the barrel, and entered his head from a distance of five centimeters. I remembered to move my pistol back to prevent anything from being blown into the pistol. The slide returned into its original position when the bullet exited the gangster's head, impacting against the concrete wall, followed by blood, bone, and brains.  
Bringing the pistol down, I stepped forward, and turned right. Another gangster was at the top, armed with an YK-32B. Bringing my left pistol up, and pulled the trigger, almost hearing the trigger and internal mechanisms move, and seeing the muzzle flash. I had shot a little low; the round was going to hit his stomach. His armor would stop the shot. Firing a double tap into the chest area, I saw the first bullet impact, causing a loud "Oof!" from the target just as the first body collapsed. He doubled over, and the two bullets entered his head, blowing its contents onto the ceiling just as the first cartridge casing hit the ground.  
I reloaded, and switched to my Uzi. I covered the rest of the distance, and saw a group of Tangos heading towards me. The man closest to me was leaning towards the wall and bringing his pistol up when I fired a three-round burst into his face. I had engaged the other one by the time he was thrown against the wall.  
The second man had a pulse rifle, and had already brought it up when I started firing. The first bullet entered between his eyes, and the next two exploded blew his upper head out. The rifle was angled up when it fired, but I dove forward anyway. A hole was formed in the ceiling when I started to fire at the third man, who had a pulse rifle. All six rounds stitched across his upper torso region. The first four shots were stopped by the armor, but the next two broke through and entered his heart. One more shot blew his brains out, splattering them across the wall, accompanied by his blood.  
The last man was bringing his pulse rifle up when I fired three shots into his head from my prone position, blowing the contents of his head out and onto the ceiling. The corpse behind me hit the ground the same time the casings of the bullets that had ended his life did. I got up.  
"Stand down." Everything returned to normal as I reloaded. I heard footsteps from around the bend.  
Reaching the bend, I flattened myself against the wall and peeked around the corner. I spotted a group of gangsters closely grouped together, racing after their colleagues. Grabbing my shotgun with my left hand and releasing the Uzi with my right, I snapped up the first weapon, brought it up to my shoulder, and pulled the trigger, sending eight pellets screaming across the room. I kept the trigger down as I worked the slide, pumping out three shells' worth of pellets down the corridor and into the group.  
When it was over, I took a closer look at the destruction I had wrought. The eight of them were sprawled in various positions across the floor, bleeding from uncountable wounds. Their weapons lay broken and useless in their hands. The air stank of cordite, blood, and excrement as I reloaded both arms.  
I reached for the Uzi, and stepped over the blood-spattered corpses and floor, avoiding the bloodstained walls.  
"Nemesis, this is Raven, come in, over." I reached for the radio.  
"Raven, Nemesis. Go ahead, over."  
"Nemesis, I've spotted a couple of snipers on the roof, armed with laser rifles. There're two more on the second floor, and another two on the second, with the same weapons. Should I take them out?"  
"Negative, weapons hold until I say so or when the enemy is about to shoot anybody."  
"Acknowledged, Nemesis. Out."  
This corridor comprised of half of the floor. The doors to the side were the wards for the patients assigned to the ICU. There were four doors. I walked over to the first one, and readied myself. A stun grenade may kill a patient due to its shock effect, and fragmentary grenades were obviously out of the equation.  
"Maximum efficiency." Time stretched and dragged on; making my mind believe that time had indeed slowed down.  
I kicked the door open, Uzi ready. The door had barely opened fully when I was in, and a gangster was directly in front of me. He also had a Glock 68 pointed at my face. The two nurses in the area screamed and ducked.  
I dove backwards and pulled the trigger, narrowly dodging the plasma bolt, and I actually felt it pass over me, incinerating a few strands of hair before blowing a hole in the wall. My bullets smashed against his armor, and knocked him backwards. The last shot tore through his throat, throwing blood out of the exit hole. He started to scream a most horrifying gurgle. I walked up to him and fired a single round into the area between his eyes from a distance of two meters.  
I looked around. There were four patients lying on the beds, all more or less alive. I turned to the closest nurse.  
"Okay...take care of them. The second floor is clear. If you need to go downstairs, take staircase B."  
She nodded.  
"Okay...how many patients are there in the ICU?"  
"...Just these four here, and another in the next room."  
"And nurses?"  
"I think two left before they came."  
"Where's Deborah Peterson?"  
"She's in the ER." D.  
"What about upstairs?"  
"I...I don't know."  
  
"What about Mike Farrington?"  
"Discharged yesterday." I whispered a brief prayer of thanks.  
"Okay. Thank you, miss."  
I walked over to the second door, Uzi ready to deal with any surprises.  
"Where the f is he?!" a man snarled.  
"I don't know! All contact's lost with the men downstairs!" another whimpered.  
"Then go there and investigate! Take him with you!" the superior of the two screamed.  
There were at least three people. I stood in front of the door, Uzi raised. When it opened, it revealed a gangster in the doorway, who suddenly found himself staring into the barrel of an Uzi. I pulled the trigger, exploding a hole in his face, splattering blood, brains, and bone across his colleague's face.  
When he collapsed, the person behind him brought his Glock up and nearly got a shot off before I shot him in the head. The last gangster had dragged the only patient from his bed and stood him up, bringing his Glock to his temple. However, the hostage was unnaturally limp, and provided a poor shield. The Tango's entire head wasn't even shielded.  
"C'mon! Bring on all your negotiating s!" he called.  
"I'm not going to reason with you. I'm only going to shoot you."  
I took careful aim, and squeezed a single round in between the gangster's eyes, the bullet penetrating cleanly and breaking his skull apart before drilling out the back of his head, taking all manner of gore with it. He released both hostage and pistol as he collapsed. I ran over to the patient.  
The only good thing was that he wasn't conscious. I placed him on his bed, adjusted the covers, and walked out after reloading the Uzi. Something made me reach for the shotgun.  
"Maximum efficiency." Time slowed down once more. A drop of sweat fell from an errant strand of hair. It hit the ground when I stepped out into the corridor.  
The last two doors burst open, revealing six gangsters armed with Glocks. They weren't prepared. I pulled the trigger, and left my finger there as I pumped the slide. The pellet spray was delivered into an unfortunate's face, blowing his head apart, transforming it into a bloody stump. The second blast caught a pair of gangsters around the chest region, and knocked them backwards. Another blast broke through their armor and tore up their upper torsos, spraying blood copiously on the floor.  
A gangster raised his Glock, and fired a shot. Sidestepping forward, avoiding the bolt in the process, I gave him a point-blank blast to the guts. The Ithaca's buckshot shells were of the 3-inch Magnum variety. At this range, the pellets broke the armor open like a hot knife through butter. A 3-inch, slightly bloody hole belied the actual damage done. The armor on the other side bulged out.  
"You son-of-a-" Another of his colleagues accidentally shot him in the back when I kicked him aside to catch the bolt for me. The plasma finished the job the pellets started. His eyes went wide, and I heard a gurgling sound as his lungs emptied. He fell aside, revealing the last two. Bringing the shotgun up, I fired a pair of buckshot shells at the two of them. The force of the shells threw them backwards, the pellets having smashed their faces into a bloody mess. The room corridor stank of death as I reloaded with slugs. I walked on, and checked the other rooms. Empty.  
"Stand down." I was starting to feel the strain. My lungs screamed for air and my muscles were yelling their fatigue. My arms were starting to tire and my head was spinning. I found a nearby water cooler and took a long drink. I felt slightly better. I rested for about half a minute to catch my breath.  
Running to the bend, I flattened myself against the wall. I heard nothing. I peeked around, shotgun ready, and saw a window in front of me, and a shadow on the floor. It grew closer and closer, and finally, a man stepped in front of me. He had a pulse rifle.  
I raised the shotgun and aligned the front sight with his chest.  
"Hey!" I whispered, pulling the trigger as I did so.  
The sniper spun around, facing me just as the trigger broke, sending a Federal Premium 3 inch slug into his chest. The sabot impacted, and ripped a jagged hole in the armor, blowing through his chest and almost blowing out of the back. He collapsed, a loud gurgle issuing from his wound.  
The muzzle report echoed throughout the floor, deafening me for a few seconds. I only heard a loud ringing. Something told me that something was behind me.  
I spun round, in time to watch a gangster fire a shot from his Glock 68. The plasma bolt burned through my left calf, leaving a clean hole. Going to one knee, I raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger, blowing his head apart.  
I looked down at the bloodless wound. It was little more than a graze, but a hole the size of a quarter had been burned, and my nerves were starting to report that my leg was burning. Grimacing, I reached for a stimpak and injected it into the wound. The flesh started to regrow. I waited for the minute it took for my flesh to regenerate before getting up. Meanwhile, I reloaded with buckshot.  
I checked the map. The snipers were around the next corner, if I turned the one in front of me. Grabbing the Uzi, I peeked around the corner.  
Nothing. I activated the radio.  
"Raven, Ghost, posit check, and state all Tangos seen."  
"Nemesis, Raven. I'm on the top floor of the building to the southeast. I have visual on snipers on the roof."  
"Nemesis, Ghost. I'm on the third floor of the same building. I have visual on snipers on the third floor."  
"Okay. Gunman, can you spot the snipers on the second floor?"  
"...Stand by...Moving..."  
"Gunman, while you're at it, bring your Galil along."  
"Roger."  
A few seconds later, he cut into the net.  
"Nemesis, Gunman. I can see the snipers."  
"Okay, fire at the snipers on my mark, and engage all targets of opportunity. Three...two...one...MARK!"  
I heard several windows shatter, rapidly followed by a hail of machine-gun fire. Another burst followed suit. I ran forward, and looked at the sniper's position.  
The two snipers had been torn apart. Their bullet-riddled bodies had some detached limbs, lying in pools of blood. Their upper torsos had multiple holes in them, oozing blood. One or more 5.56x45 mm NATO bullets traveling at supersonic speeds had decapitated one of them. Their rifles were useless.  
"Tangos down!" Gunman called.  
"Tangos eliminated!" Ghost exclaimed.  
"Tangos down," Raven whispered.  
I looked at the staircase in front of me. It corresponded to the first staircase I saw at the lobby. I removed a proximity mine, placed it at the door, activated it, and ran back to the stairwell from which I had entered this floor. Another explosion echoed throughout the building, shaking it like a seizure. Lake's amplified voice echoed throughout the area.  
"Well done, Smith. Let me continue.  
"Some decades ago, a tribal from a small village in the north and his party raided the Enclave's base at Poseidon's oilrig off the West Coast. He succeeded in assassinating the President of the United States, slaughtering the best soldiers we had, initiating a catastrophic meltdown in its nuclear reactor, and releasing all of the prisoners we had taken. He returned to San Francisco, assuming he was victorious.  
"But, there are still survivors. There were some soldiers who survived the tribal's earlier assault on Navarro. Others had been dispatched to the mainland for special missions before the destruction of the oilrig. Those men represented the last hope of America.  
"No matter what we did, the tribal fought off every attack against us...that is the one loss we have suffered since our existence...and now, his legacy lives on in other people, and we are hunting them down!"  
"We reestablished ourselves in many cities, towns, and villages, posing as simple people while taking on more recruits, swelling our ranks, repossessing military equipment, and preparing for the final revolution!  
"We are almost ready! Nothing can stop us now! Even if I die, the Enclave will be victorious in the end! We will retake this country, and the United States of America will be REBORN!"  
Two gangsters took this time to come down the stairs, and were promptly eviscerated by two shells worth of buckshot. After reloading, I walked up the stairs, avoiding the blood, guts, gore, and the two corpses.  
About halfway up, I spotted a grenade arcing towards the steps. I ran up, shotgun in hand, and spotted four gangsters, each with Glocks. I unleashed a blast from the hip, smashing a gangster's armor apart and spraying blood onto the walls. Diving forward, I pumped the action as I kept my finger on the trigger, blowing away another gangster and catching another in the pellet spray. I pumped the slide a third time as I landed, and the shot column broke the upper torso armor of the final gangster, blowing out the other side. The sound of the blasts echoed throughout the corridor as I reloaded.  
Switching to the Uzi, I walked forward, weapon raised to a 45-degree angle. The unnatural silence after the blasts was slightly unnerving, especially since no sound was emitted from the four rooms to either side.  
I entered the room closest to me. Nothing.  
The room next to it held a nurse and a patient. I ran to them.  
"You okay?" They nodded. The patient was the same boy I had treated outside the Desert Star.  
"Okay...how many patients are there on this floor?"  
"Three. There's another one in the room opposite us, and two more after the bend."  
"Nurses?"  
"Two. They're in the rooms in the corridor beyond the bend."  
"Okay, thank you. Think you can get out of here?"  
"...We'll try."  
"Okay. Take staircase B all the way down. Go out through the front door. You'll see a man with a Galil machine gun. Approach only him. Okay?"  
"Okay." The boy spoke up.  
"I wanna go with you."  
"No...this is a battlefield. Only soldiers like me have the training to survive."  
"...A soldier?"  
"Yeah...one who fights for his country, honor, duty, and so on."  
"Can I be one?"  
"Maybe. Right now, your job is to live, and grow. Okay?"  
"Okay."  
I turned to the nurse.  
"Go only when I say it's okay."  
I turned around, Uzi ready.  
I opened the door of the opposite room. Sure enough, only the patient was there. He was unconscious, and would probably stay that way. Instinct told me to turn around.  
Spinning around, I went to a crouching position as I spotted two gangsters in the open doorway.  
"Die!" one of them screamed.  
I fired a three round burst into the closest one's face, and three more went into the other's head. Their shattered skulls spewed scarlet and gray on the floor. I stepped into the corridor, and noted that the door of the room to my right was open. A quick look revealed that the room was empty. I went back to the nurse's room.  
"It's clear. I'll cover you."  
Stepping out, I aimed the Uzi at the bend, just in time to hear the sound of running feet. It sounded like there were four Tangos.  
"Go!" I whispered to them. They disappeared.  
I reached for a stun grenade, and primed it with my teeth. I tossed it around the bend without looking; I needed it for its shock effect.  
When it detonated, I peeked around the bend, Uzi in my left hand. I aimed at the closest Tango, and blew his brains across the wall. The second Tango tried to look up. Three rounds sprayed the contents of his head across the floor. The other two ran forward, unaffected by the bullets, raising their plasma pistols as they did so.  
I aimed at one head at blew it apart. The other fired a shot, and I ducked. The bolt singed my hair as I shot him in the head.  
I reloaded. I blinked several times to relieve my eyes of the strain on them. The cordite started to tickle my nose and throat, in addition to the smell of death. My lungs had to work overtime, along with my heart. I leaned against a clean section of wall while I caught my breath. After a few seconds, I recovered, and looked around.  
There were no doors in this corridor, and I walked on, reloading as I did so.  
"Gunman, this is Nemesis. Two hostages, one nurse, one child, heading your way."  
"Roger, Nemesis. So far, every hostage has arrived unharmed."  
Reaching the end of the corridor, I readied the SMG and peeked around the corner.  
There was nothing there except for the bright electric lights and four doors on either side of the corridor. For the first time, I noticed the air conditioning. The air conditioners' quiet hum was a marked contrast to the roar of gunfire.  
Sneaking over to the door closest to me, I kicked it open. Nothing.  
I turned around, and sneaked over to the door opposite me. I kicked it open. The two patients were there, along with the nurses. I walked over to them.  
"You okay? I'm here to rescue you."  
"We're fine," a nearby nurse told me.  
"Okay. Can the patients walk?"  
"Yes...barely."  
"Okay...Help them out of the hospital. You'll see a large man with a Galil machine gun. Approach him only. He'll send you to safety. Move only when I say it's clear."  
"Okay...behind you!"  
I spun around, dropping to one knee as I did so. A gangster was at the doorway, Glock raised. I fired before he did. He collapsed bleeding from his shattered skull as the nurses screamed and ducked. I heard a soft metallic click.  
Grenade.  
Getting up, I raced to the door. The grenade had not been thrown in yet. The gangster was waiting for the grenade to cook off for two seconds.  
"Maximum efficiency." Time slowed down again. I could hear the nurses' ragged breathing. I saw an arm in the doorway, hand clasping a grenade. I aimed, and riddled the arm full of bullets, shattering the bones in it, before I dived to the left.  
"F-!"  
"S-!" another screamed. Neither of them had time to finish the obscenities.  
The grenade detonated. I heard the explosion a nanosecond before I caught a faint glimpse of its shockwave. Seeing sound is something that cannot be described unless one has actually done it before.  
I ran to the door.  
The grenadier's left hand had been exploded from within, leaving a bloody stump. The digits of the hand were scattered around his twitching body. He had caught several dozen shards of shrapnel in the chest and neck, ripping them apart. The growing pool of blood was a silent testimony to the damage done.  
Lying in front of the corpse was another gangster. Several pieces of shrapnel had shredded his skull apart. The pool of scarlet and gray mingled with the other pool of blood, and was now spreading across the floor.  
"Stand down."  
I dragged the bodies towards the other empty room and closed the door. The hostages already had a bad day. Seeing two bodies killed in such a fashion will not serve to do them any good. I grabbed the shotgun and turned towards the hostages.  
"It's clear! Take staircase B. The other one's booby-trapped. GO!"  
After hearing their footsteps fade, I advanced cautiously towards the doors.  
They exploded outwards, revealing two gangsters in the doorways. Raising the shotgun, I fired a shell at the nearest one before turning and doing the same to the other. The first collapsed in a scream of pain, and the second was thrown to the left a little before he went down. The pellets had smashed through the armor, and had destroyed their internal organs.  
"Fire in the hole!"  
Two grenades arced out of both doors. F!  
"Maximum efficiency!"  
I dived forward, and caught one in mid-flight, tossing it back towards the left door. The second landed next to me, and I returned it to its thrower before covering my head and crawling backwards.  
They weren't fragmentary grenades. I could tell by these grenades' metallic, almost musical detonation. A wave of green marched towards me, obliterating all in its path, and receded before I could blink. My skin had absorbed a large amount of the heat emitted by the blasts.  
Plasma grenades. They were originally built to destroy armored vehicles before World War III. There were many reports of targets simply disappearing after being caught in a plasma grenade's blast wave. Man has always been looking for better and deadlier ways to kill each other.  
The plasma had removed the walls and part of the floors and ceiling in the area. The gangsters had disappeared into thin air. The rooms' front portion appeared to have been grossly expanded. Two large craters revealed the grenades' landing zone.  
"Stand down."  
I stood up.  
"I've got to admit, you're one h of a soldier," Lake said, once again using the PA system.  
"The Enclave could've used you. Too bad, though. You blew away every man I had. As their commander-in-chief, it is my duty to avenge them.  
"But, let me tell you something. One year ago, a raider called Crazy Dog was killed about twelve miles northeast of here. He was no raider. He was an Enclave soldier. He carried out his duties to the letter, striking fear in the hearts of sub-humans everywhere. He was one of our best recruiters, though. Eighty percent of the men he recommended to us turned out to be among the best soldiers we had.  
"He was my brother. For one year, I've been trying to track down his killers, and there're all here. Come up to the roof! This isn't business, just personal! We'll finish it right here and now! I've got something very important to tell you!"  
...Crazy Dog was his brother? That figures. Just before he died, he screamed that he had a very powerful brother.  
"Nemesis, this is Raven. A man has walked out of a structure and is now on the roof. Want me to kill him?"  
"...Negative. Weapons hold."  
"Roger."  
I walked over to the final staircase. I unslung the Uzi, removed all of my remaining magazines for it, and placed it next to the door. Then, I unloaded the remaining shells in my shotgun, and placed every shell, except the fletchette ones, next to the Uzi mags.  
The hospital was surrounded by residential buildings on all sides. A missed bullet from an Uzi would travel on and still be lethal for a long way. The same applied for pellets and slugs for the shotgun. Flechette rounds, at least the time I purchased, stopped being lethal past 40 meters.  
"Gunman, this is Nemesis. I need you to go to the third floor, staircase A, and look after my equipment." I read the list out to him. "Do NOT use staircase A; it's booby-trapped."  
"Roger, Nemesis."  
"Doc, Nemesis. The info you gave me is wrong. There're less people than expected."  
"That's a relief."  
I walked up the stairs, shotgun in hand.  
Upon reaching the top, I opened the doors, and waked through.  
  
Lake was standing at the opposite end of the roof. He was decked out in his armor, and had two Glock 68s in his hands. He had come out of the structure behind him, which was supposed to be the main office.  
"Lake...we finally meet," I called out.  
He had blond hair, blue eyes, and actually looked German. He would have made a fine poster boy for the SS.  
"Smith! So good of you to come to your death grounds!"  
He pointed to a large metal container in the center of the area.  
"See that? That has enough weapons-grade FEV to kill every subhuman in this city. This hospital is located in the north of the hospital. The winds blow from north to south, and will carry the FEV far and wide! The cleansing of this city will begin after your death!"  
As if on cue, a strong breeze kicked up, lifting my trench coat into the air. If a breeze could perform that feat, it must be at least Force Five.  
The FEV was supposed to have died with the heart of the Enclave. If the tank held FEV, its very existence would prove the survival of the Enclave.  
"Before you ask, the tank is set to release in ten minutes! You have ten minutes left to live, Smith! Good luck!"  
"Maximum efficiency."  
Time slowed down. My heart rate increased rapidly, and quietly faded into the ambient noise. I raised the shotgun, focusing on the front sight. Its stock found the hollow of my shoulder. I peered through the rear sight, and focused on the front sight, aligning it with Lake's chest. A headshot was too much to ask of this ammunition. I pulled the trigger smoothly, and felt it break at a crisp four pounds. A load of flechettes emerged from the muzzle blast. I barely felt the recoil.  
A flechette was essentially a plastic dart. At high speeds, it has the potential to rip flesh apart, and be embedded within the body. It was banned from export in the 1990s as X-rays could not pick the darts up.  
Over a hundred flechettes pierced the air, separating as they did so. Most of them collided against his armor and crushed themselves uselessly against it. The rest ripped flesh away from his arms, and he dropped his Glocks  
He dove to the left, landing behind some pipes. I dropped the shotgun, and reached for the pistols, sidestepping as I did so. I took cover behind another large pipe.  
He stood up, and I peeked out. I aimed, and started pulling the triggers. I felt each of them break crisply and evenly again and again. I saw the top slide racing back and forth, stripping bullets from magazines as fast as hot brass was ejected. This was proof that Para-Ordnance knew what it was doing when these guns were built. The front sights stayed on Lake, their tops showing each bullet's point of impact. My breathing was regular, almost calm. Lake jerked back and forth as each slug slammed into him. The muzzle reports became dull, low-pitched explosions. Everything else dissolved into a blur.  
Both guns clicked on empty. The guns spewed hot cordite from their muzzles as I angled them down, and reloaded. After that, I cocked the pistols and replaced the magazines.  
Smith's battered and bloodied body twitched. I covered his body.  
I walked over to him, ready to pump another thirty-two bullets into him.  
He was still breathing. His chest heaved up and down as I approached. The armor had been shattered in several places, revealing bloody holes. Two of them in the gut area were bleeding heavily. Several more holes were scattered across his chest. I was not surprised buy the lack of neck or head hits; fifty meters was too far to place a headshot accurately with a pistol without some kind of aiming device. There was one hole over his heart. That would kill him eventually. It will take fifteen seconds to a minute, but he will die in the end.  
He opened his mouth.  
"D...I never saw anybody who could move that fast." A blood bubble formed at his mouth. It popped after a second of existence. His chest wounds were more severe than I thought.  
"You've won this round. However, the Enclave will triumph in the end!" More hacking and coughing followed that statement. Some blood spurted out of his mouth.  
"The armies are massing. You cannot stop us!" He coughed even more.  
You don't talk to snakes; you kill them.  
I kicked him over to his left. He did not resist.  
I aimed my right Para-Ordnance at his left temple and pulled the trigger slowly but smoothly. It broke like a glass rod, causing the striker to be released, and head for the primer in the bullet. The primer was compressed, and it exploded, igniting the powder charge in the casing. The brass casing expanded, and sealed off the chamber, forcing all of the gas produced to accelerate the bullet through the barrel. The bullet spun in transit, following the rifling in the barrel. Upon exiting the barrel, it smashed into Lake's left temple, delivering every foot-pound of energy it had into his brain before exploding out the other side, impacting and flattening into the concrete roof, leaving a wake of crimson and gray.  
In ancient times, when it was still all right to execute prisoners, the CO of the capturing party had a choice of either firing into the left temple, or the right temple. By shooting him in the right, the CO is saying that the prisoner has shown valor in battle. If the prisoner is shot in the left, the prisoner is has no redeeming qualities, since it was largely believed that the left equaled evil. The Old English word for that action is 'sinistre'. It evolved into the modern English word 'sinister'.  
"Stand down."  
"Tech, this is Nemesis. There's a biological bomb on the top floor. It's loaded with weapons-grade FEV, enough to kill the city. I need you to defuse it," I said into the radio.  
Tech burst through the door of the roof access.  
"What the h? How the h did you get here so fast?" I ordered.  
"Well, your radio's been set to transmit all this while. I heard everything, so I came here. Your stuff's still intact, by the way."  
He raced over to the bomb, and removed his bomb defusal kit: a toolkit, and a circuit tester. He inspected the container, and found a hatch. I walked into the building. If it went off, I wouldn't want to breathe it in.  
I made it to the second floor when Tech called.  
"Nemesis, this is Tech. Device made safe. Repeat, device made safe. This thing has a full load of some greenish stuff...best if we never open it."  
"Roger, thank you Tech."  
"Nemesis, this is Raven. The cops are moving in."  
"Right..."  
I walked out of the front door.  
The police burst in, and stormed past me. Then, they gawked at the carnage.  
"Hey! Staircase A's been booby-trapped."  
The police officers nodded before they ran about and did nothing.  
I turned around. Deborah Peterson was waiting for me.  
"How are the ER patients?"  
"We saved them." There was a sharp intake of breath.  
I saw her hand before it arrived. I knew how to take her out before it arrived, but I just held the pose. When the hand arrived, it slapped my face to the right. The sting of the blow didn't feel like much, but something, it felt more devastating that a well-deserved shot to the head.  
"Jake Smith! Do you know how much you made me worry?!" she screamed.  
"...Sorry."  
"I mean, killing all of the gangsters like that...what were you thinking?"  
"Honestly? How to kill them."  
"Grr...have you anything to say for yourself?"  
"...No."  
"You..." Her voice broke up, and she ran to me, flung her arms around my chest, and buried her head in it, crying softly. She was a head shorter than I am. I gently wrapped my arms around her, and placed my head over hers, making the gesture feel protective. She responded with my pressure, and so did I.  
We stayed there for an eternity.  
"You...you're a terrible man," she whispered.  
"It's all over now."  
I knew that it wasn't. It couldn't.  
  
The End  
  
Credits:  
  
Fallout original concept: Black Isle Studios Weapons data: Max R. Popenker (www.world.guns.ru), A. E. Hartnik, and Chris McNab Tactical data: Tom Clancy (Indirectly, of course)  
  
Is it truly over? Only you can decide, dear reader. What do you think? 


End file.
